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TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS 

r 


By F. A. 

* \ 



PHILADELPHIA*. 

Peter F. Cunningham, Catholic Bookseller, 216 South Third Street. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
PETER F. CUNNINGHAM, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


PREFACE. 



J/j] HERE exists, in the present day, a dearth 
of Catholic light literature. Several 
writers have labored, and are laboring 
still, to supply books, suggestive enough to 
leave matter for thought behind them, and 
yet light enough to make their perusal a 
pastime. But, as this kind of literature 
must be abundant, if it is to meet its object, 
a regret is still felt in every class of Catholic 
society, that such books are so few. 

The writer of “ Marion Howard,” there- 
fore, hopes that there can be no presumption 
in trying to do what more able writers seem 
slow in doing. This is her principal reason 
for venturing to expect that Catholics gen- 
erally, and influential Catholics especially, will 
give it their support and patronage. 


o 


4 


Preface . 


The tale embodies an explanation of reli- 
gion to those outside the Church, and the 
subjects are suited particularly to Evangelical 
Protestants, with whom the writer is best 
acquainted, and who may be disposed to 
read her unpretending exposition of Catholic 
truth. 

The work touches upon important doc- 
trines of the faith; the author therefore has 
not trusted to her own knowledge or judg- 
ment, but has submitted every word to eccle- 
siastics of position and learning. 

Notting Hill, May, 1871. 




MARION HOWARD; 


OR, 


TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS. 


CHAPTER I. 


cl 


* 


T WAS Sunday afternoon. Tea had been over 
some time, and Mrs. Howard, leaning back in 
her chair, looked out into her trim little garden, 
with a far-away expression in her dark gray 
eyes. Opposite, her weekly budget not yet ex- 
hausted, sat Miss Leicester, news-purveyor in gene- 
ral to the good people of Ennington, too happy in 
securing a listener, to criticise the amount of atten- 
tion bestowed by her. This was certainly not 
very great; for, keen as was Mrs. Howard’s sense 
of the ridiculous, her wit was flown to a higher 
quarry than the sayings and doings of the Enning- 
ton shopkeepers. But even Miss Leicester’s gossip 
was better than nothing on Sunday afternoon, with 
its dull monotony, and so, listlessly reclining, the 

1# 5 


6 


Marion Howard; or, 


lady of the house listened to her visitor as long as 
she interested her, and amused herself with her 
own thoughts when she did not. 

But everything must have an end, and even Miss 
Leicester’s subjects were growing threadbare. She 
had discussed the congregation, from Mrs. Steb- 
bing and her blue bonnet, to the butcher’s wife and 
her red shawl. She had shaken her head over 
many things that were true, and many more that 
were not, and made quite an Alpine chain out of a 
few straggling molehills. Truly, as she contem- 
plated the shortcomings of her neighbors, Miss 
Leicester thanked the Lord that she was “ not as 
other men.” 

And all this time a little maiden had been sit- 
ting on a low seat near her mother, her long curls 
dropping over her book, trying to find something 
fresh in “Pilgrim’s Progress.” Miss Leicester had 
not even bestowed a thought upon her, so en- 
grossed had she appeared in her book, and she 
was not a little startled by a deep sigh proceeding 
from the low seat in question. It was so evidently 
the result of her last observation that the village 

o 

gossip felt uneasy, for, in common with the rest 
of her class, she had a decided objection to “little 
pitchers,” as she styled them. The look of vexa- 
tion which she directed towards Mrs. Howard was, 
however, quite lost upon that lady, who only bent 
down to her child. 

“What a sigh, Marion dear; what was it for?” 

“ I was only wishing people were good, mamma.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 


7 


“Well, dear, we all wish that, of course; but 
the world is naturally wicked.” 

“Yes, I know,” said the child mournfully; “but 
sometimes when I think about it, it seems so dread- 
ful that I feel quite tired ;” and closing her large 
book, she rested her hands and cheek on its mar- 
bled edges, and looked up into her mother’s eyes. 

“You are a strange child, Marion,” said Mrs. 
Howard, softly stroking the bright curls; “but was 
that all, was that the only reason of the sigh ?” 
“Yes; there was nothing else, mamma.” 

“Ah! my dear,” exclaimed Miss Leicester, “you 
have many things to learn yet. All Christians 
mourn, of course, the corruption of the world at 
large. Well, it only remains for us, who have 
received greater advantages, to set the example. 
If we were what they ought to be, what a world 
this would be, to be sure !” 

Perhaps it did not strike Miss Leicester that 
should that halcyon period arrive, “ Othello’s occu- 
pation would be gone.” Neither did it strike our 
. little girl, she never having read Shakespeare, but 
she certainly had a strange thought or two of her 
own about her mother’s friend, as she turned back 
to old Christian and his peregrinations. 

“ It is time for you to dress for church, my love,” 
observed Mrs. Howard, taking out her watch. 

“ Will you not come, too, mamma ?” 

“ Not this evening. I feel rather tired, for I did 
not sleep well last night. Miss Leicester will stop 
and keep me company, I know.” 


8 


Marion Howard; or y 


Mrs. Howard’s will was Miss Leicester’s law, 
and that lady simply nodded her head. 

“Try and remember the text, Marion,” was her 
mother’s parting injunction, as the child bent over 
her to kiss her. 

“Pray do,” exclaimed Miss Leicester, “and the 
sermon, too, if that dear Mr. Lisle preaches. I 
must say I hope he will not, for I shall feel disap- 
pointed if he does.” 

“ I am sure you shall feel nothing of the kind on 
my account,” rejoined Mrs. Howard. “ I would 
not detain you for the world. Marion shall wait 
for you.” 

“ My dear friend, you quite misunderstand me, 
indeed you do !” exclaimed Miss Leicester. “ I 
have not the smallest wish to leave you. How can 
you talk so when you know how I appreciate your 
society? Why, Mr. Lisle would not teach me 
more than I know I shall learn from you to-night.” 

Mrs. Howard’s lip curled perceptibly, but she 
only signed for Marion to go. 

“ Yes, indeed,” continued Miss Leicester, “ I 
count these evenings passed with you as golden 
moments. One gets so little intellectual society in 
this out-of-the-way place, while with you one finds 
the ‘ feast of reason and the flow of 50111 / But do 
you not consider Mr. Lisle a sweet preacher? O, 
his sermon this morning ! ‘ Little children, love 

one another.’ How beautiful, how exquisite, how 
touching it was ! I could hardly restrain my feel- 
ings I declare, but you know I am such a creature 


9 


Trials and Triumphs . 

of impulse. Now, if I only had your firmness of 
character, your depth of intellect, my dear Mrs. 
Howard, I would — ah, what would I do?” 

Again the lip curled and Mrs. Howard looked 
into the garden. 

“You are such a dear undemonstrative creature: 
but tell me now, what do you think of Mr. Lisle ? 
I should so like to know.” 

“ Mr. Lisle,” replied the other, without turning 
her head, “ he is very well. He preaches good com- 
mon sense sermons, though he is far from brilliant. 
But whatever he may be, he is too good for Enning- 
ton, where I consider old Doctor Stebbing just in 
his place.” 

Toady as she was, poor Miss Leicester smarted 
under the innuendo, and the little old maid sat 
silent for nearly five minutes. 

Marion started on her walk. It was the middle 
of June, and all things were bright and beautiful as 
June alone can make them. As she passed down 
the street, she overtook many of the persons men- 
tioned by Miss Leicester in her catalogue of woes. 
But she shrank from them all ; for distrust had 
entered her heart, and nobody seemed good. 
When she reached the church, a tall, awkward 
country lad was leaning over the gate, who 
grinned sheepishly as she approached, and offered 
her a bunch of cottage flowers. Poor Bill Rogers ! 
All that Miss Leicester had said and prophesied 
concerning him came into Marion’s mind, and 
she shook her head. 


IO 


Marion Howard ; or> 

“No, thank you: I don’t want them,” and with 
the refusal she passed into the church-yard. 

Bill looked after her. “ Proud little puss !” he 
muttered, “ but she warn’t allers that. She used 
to smile on a body pleasant-like, onst. It’s along 
o’ that mother o’ hern. Never mind, if she won’t 
have ’em, here goes.” He flung the flowers into a 
ditch, and more than ever out of conceit with the 
“ gentry,” went his way. 

It was an old fashioned church, and one that 
stood the wear and tear of centuries and fanaticism ; 
but its carved oakwood and rich stained glass con- 
trasted strangely with the rough pews with which 
it was filled. Certainly the alterations, reparations, 
and modifications it had undergone, would have 
puzzled the antiquary or outraged an architect. 
But Marion knew nothing of all this; and only 
thought the church looked very nice as the sun- 
shine flooded through the crimson glass. Nor did 
she wander back, as she might have done, to those 
days gone by, when a more glorious sunlight gilded 
its sanctuary and hallowed its walls. “ I wish it 
was always like this,” she thought, as, having 
reached her seat, she looked around; “it is so dif- 
ferent generally, so dull and dark.” 

Marion Howard was her mother’s only child. 
Reared as she had been in the village of Enning- 
ton, it comprised her whole world. And a circum- 
scribed one it was ; for Dr. Stebbing and his young 
wife, the curate, Miss Leicester, and Mr. Bernard, 
the doctor, were the only friends that Mrs. Howard 


Trials and Triumphs . x x 

and her little daughter could number. Of these, 
the rector was too fussy, and his wife too prim, to 
please Mrs. Howard’s fastidious taste; but Mr. 
Lisle she liked better than she chose to acknow- 
ledge to Miss Leicester, though, as his stiffness 
somewhat awed her, she rather stood aloof from 
him, while the little old maid and her clatter were 
only tolerated when nothing better could be had. 
Mr. Bernard was an exception to every rule, for 
even Mrs. Howard unbent with him, while Marion 
found in the good-natured old bachelor the mer- 
riest of play-fellows and the warmest of friends. 

Distant, however, as she was to the world at 
large, Mrs. Howard was a kind and affectionate 
mother. She loved Marion dearly, and being her- 
self an accomplished woman, she carried on the 
work of her education unassisted. But she was not 
a Christian parent ; and had the child’s qualities 
been less than genuine, Marion would have been 
spoiled from her cradle. Excellent as was her 
training for the head, her culture for the heart was 
sadly defective, and Marion was principally indebted 
to the instructions of her old nurse, and to a dispo- 
sition inherited from her father, for the gentleness 
and amiability that endeared her to all hearts. 

Entrenched in the citadel of her pride, Mrs. 
Howard made all things subservient to it, and sel- 
dom glanced beyond. Rank and wealth she shrank 
from, as only pride shrinks from its superiors • 
poverty and vulgarity she ignored; those in her 
own position she loved, shunned, tolerated, or ridi- 


12 Marion Howard; or , 

culed, according to circumstances. In Ennington, 
engrossed in her child, she was simply supine ; 
and there Marion neither learned from her the 
golden rule of love, nor the worldly one of censure. 
But in London, where the little girl occasionally 
passed a few weeks with her mother, and where the 
latter condescended to shine, things were different. 
Gathering brilliance from her imagination, there 
even Miss Leicester’s humorous stories were struck 
into sparkling anecdotes, and went off with a flash. 
Marion, young as she was, imbued with the simple 
piety of her kind old nurse, shrank from this, and 
loved her mother far better in the village home, 
than when she shone, the admired and courted visi- 
tor, in her aunt’s stately drawing room in May Lair. 
Her impulse was to love all men. The evil influ- 
ence had not yet began to work its way, for she 
had not yet learned to grow suspicious of human 
virtue, or to look for weeds rather than flowers in 
the great garden of human life. 

At the time our narrative commences, Mrs. How- 
ard had been for some years a widow. Of all the 
bright points in her character, true devotion to her 
husband had been not the least conspicuous, and 
her grief at his loss was no sickly sentiment. Cap- 
tain Howard had been twice married, and the fruit 
of his first union was a son, who had been brought 
up in India from his childhood, and who was now 
about three-and-twenty. To this half-brother Mar- 
ion’s heart turned with real affection. No ancient 
warrior, no hero of romance, no celebrity of modern 


Trials and Triumphs . 13 

days, shared the pinnacle to which she had elevated 
him. The soldier brother “ stood alone in his 
glory.” But Mrs. Howard was naturally far less 
ecstatic, and although her love for her truly noble 
husband made her read Edward’s letters with 
interest, the idea of a step-son of twenty-three had 
its drawbacks, and she discouraged Marion’s deep 
affection for him with a jealousy, not unnatural 
perhaps, in the mother of an only child. “ He was 
not her brother. She would never see him. He 
did not really think much about her,” were phrases 
that wrung Marion’s heart and made her silent, 
but made her love for Edward a deeper idolatry 
than ever. 

Much as Mrs. Howard had loved her husband, 
her affection had never extended to his family, and 
for years, so many that Marion could only just 
remember when it was not so, there had been a 
wide breach between her and them. Two or three 
years after the death of Captain Howard, his mother 
had visited her daughter-in-law ; but wearied out 
at length, notwithstanding great forbearance, by a 
haughtiness and assumption she could not under- 
stand, she had departed sick at heart. The kiss 
she bestowed on her little grandchild, with a gift 
to the old nurse, were her only leave-takings ; and 
she had never seen or written to her daughter-in- 
law since. 

On this bright summer evening, which tempted 
many of the villagers into the green lanes and 

smiling meadows of Ennington, the attendance at 

2 




Maid on Howard; or , 


the service was but small, and when the sunshine 
faded once again out of the old edifice which it 
had brightened for a while, Marion grew moody too. 
It was with real pleasure that, the prayers being 
ended, she saw Mr. Lisle mount the pulpit stairs. 
He was, as we have already said, the curate of the 
village, and truly and deservedly beloved. Intelli- 
gent as he was, the talents that would have shown 
in a wider field of action were not lost even in a 
narrower sphere. Unpretending in his piety, unos- 
tentatious in his charity, untiring in the weary labor 
of pastoral ministrations, he was the friend alike of 
rich and poor. Eagerly sought by all, he was more 
frequently welcomed as a guest at the humble tea- 
board of the villager than at the stately dinner- 
tables of the county families around. The poor, 
the sick and sorrowful, hailed him as an angel of 
mercy. But he had his faults; for he was bigoted, 
intolerant, and dogmatic. In religion he formed 
his own creed, preached it, and, of course, inveighed 
with the greatest vehemence against every one who 
differed with him. Yet he was a man of no ordi- 
nary intellectual attainments. 

This evening, however, his sermon was a plain, 
practical address, in which, continuing the subject 
of the morning, he urged upon his flock the duty 
of Christian forbearance. He was very earnest, 
and many a fashionable preacher would have felt 
gratified at the rapt attention of his rustic con- 
gregation. But at last all was over, the sermon 
preached, the blessing given ; every head was bent 


1 5 


Trials and Triumphs . 

for a silent minute, and then all rose to go. Why 
should they linger, where all was redolent with 
decaying timber and mildewed baize, when God 
w'as quite as near in the bright green fields, around ? 
Whv remain bowed within four mere walls, while 
His presence shone so much more vividly in the 
setting sun, the waving trees, and the farewell 
warble of the sleepy birds ? 

Marion paused in the churchyard to watch the 
various groups chatting and laughing around ; 
lengthening, as it seemed, the little space now left 
between the Sunday leisure and the threshold of 
the morrow’s toil. There a knot of old men were 
comparing the prospect of the crops and by-gone 
harvests ; here a cluster of aged matrons discussed 
the sermon and the preacher; while many of the 
younger ones, gliding away in cosy couples, were 
soon lost in the winding lanes. Who that knows 
country life cannot picture them, those stalwart old 
English yeomen and their red cloaked dames ? 
The cherry-cheeked damsel, hiding her laughing 
eyes in a posy of “Old Man” and “Sweet Wil- 
liam,” while the awkward young fellow beside her 
places the flower he has been stealing in his but- 
ton hole ? Who has not seen such a village as this, 
with its ivy covered church, rising from amid the 
tombs of generations only to be numbered by the 
historian ? Who has not even sometimes almost 
envied the quiet existence that begins and ends in 
such a sweet monotony, with joys and sorrows, 
virtues and vices, all its own ? Marion stood and 


1 6 Marion Hoivard ; or , 



looked upon the scene, much interested, for the 
sermon had calmed her. She almost longed to 
join one of the merry groups, instead of going 
home to keep her own company in the garden, or 
Miss Leicester’s in the parlor. 

“ Good evening, little dreamer,” and a hand was 
laid lightly on her shoulder. 

“ O, Mr. Lisle, how you startled me !” 

“ What were you thinking of? for, I suppose, for 
some time to come one may ask you plain ques- 
tions.” 

“ Of so many things, that really I can hardly tell 
you. I was looking more than thinking.” 

“What were you looking at, then?” he asked, 
as having by this time reached the gate, he 'half- 
seated himself upon the low wall, whilst his little 
companion leaned against the railing of the gate. 

“ I was looking at the people talking together, 
and wondering whether any of the dead buried 
here could know what they were talking about.” 

“ No ; how could they ?” 

“ I don’t know ; though, if they could, there are 
many things I should like to tell papa.” 

“You have a Father in heaven, my dear child; 
you must learn to talk to him.” 

“How?” asked Marion, looking suddenly up. 
“ I wish I could,” she added. 

“ In prayer.” 

“Yes, I say my prayers, of course; but that is 
not like talking. It seems to me that nobody talks 
to God now,” continued Marion, with a sigh. 


l 7 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“I do not understand you, Marion. It is our 
own fault if we do not do so. Has He not said, 

* Pray without ceasing’?” 

“ Mr. Lisle, if I tell you something that I often 
think, will you be angry ?” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“Well, it seems to me that God is hardly fair 
and just. Please, don’t look like that. I really 
do not mean anything wicked. This is what I 
think. In the beginning Pie used actually to talk 
to Adam and Eve ; and even after their time He 
often came in the form of an angel, and talked to 
different people. It was God himself who wrestled 
with Jacob, and who spoke in the burning bush to 
Moses. Then he might always be seen in the 
pillar of fire that went before the Israelites. After 
this, Pie was always over the Mercy-Seat, and 
though the Israelites themselves were not allowed 
to see Him, still they knew that He was there, 
looking at them through the thin veil, and the 
high priest actually saw the bright cloud often.” 

“Only once a year,” interrupted Mr. Lisle. 

“ Was it not oftener than that ? I had forgotten. 
Well, this cloud was God’s own glory. It was 
the shadow of Himself. Then Mr. Lisle, after all 
these things came Jesus in the form of a man, and 
every one could even touch Him. Was He at first 
like any common baby?” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ His mother knew He was really God, did she 
not ?” 


2 * 


i8 Marion Howard; or y 

“ Of course she did.” 

'‘She must have been very good.” 

“ She was a very holy woman.” 

“ But how strange it must have been to have 
washed and dressed Him. Should you think He 
ever cried ?” 

“ Hush, my dear child. Marion, we never think 
about such things. Like pictures of the crucifixion 
and the crown of thorns, these things show us too 
much Christ in His humiliation, and we ought to 
turn all our thoughts to Him glorified. But what 
is all you have been telling me to lead to ?” 

“ I was going to say, that as long as Jesus was 
here, He talked to people and they talked to Him, 
just as you and I are talking now. He cured 
them, and helped them, and made them happy in 
many ways. But then He died, and since then, 
except once when He spoke to Paul, God has kept 
in heaven. And really, this seems hardly fair to 
me. Why do you think it is that these people 
should talk to Him for thousands of years, face to 
face almost, and that we should never see Him. 
If there were only a room always shut up, and I 
knew He was inside, as the Jews did, I could talk 
to him through the door. Do you understand me?” 
‘•Quite, but I do not agree with you. The veil 
that lies between us and Christ in heaven is as thin 
as that which lay between the Israelites and the 
Shechinah. Marion, we live by faith, the old order 
of things has ‘passed away, and with it the ordi- 
nance of things visible.” 


/ 


Trials and Triumphs. ig 

“ Bat did not the people who followed our Lord 
live by faith too, else how did they know that He 
was God ?” 

“ Of course they did. But do you think the 
apostles loved Him less and prayed less to Him 
after He had gone from them?” 

“No; because they had really seen Him, and 
knew Him as He really was. But I always fancy 
they said very different prayers to us. Do not be 
vexed, Mr. Lisle; but if I could only see the land 
where Christ once walked and talked, He would 
seem more real to me. Of course I believe in 
Him; you know I do; but the sky seems so very 
high, and they say space goes on for ever, and so 
I cannot imagine where God and heaven are.” 

“ Everywhere, Marion !” 

“Yes, I know that too, because God is a spirit. 
But this idea of God is too grand for me, and I 
love to think of Him rather as the Man of Christ 
Jesus. This is what I mean. His body was not 
everywhere when he walked about Galilee, nor 
when He was crucified, and the last time the apos- 
tles saw Him before the cloud received him out of 
their sight, He was still a man; and yet, now, He 
seems to be once again a great grand Spirit, that 
loves us and takes care of us, but who does not 
come near us any more.” 

“You are a strange child,” exclaimed the curate, 
looking up at her from the ivy leaf he had been 
playing with during the conversation, “ but do not 
be alarmed ; your ideas are more fanciful than 


20 


Marion Howard; or , 


wrong ; you must not, however, indulge in them. 
When you are older, these things will be more 
clear. We cannot be too careful in watching, lest, 
unknown to ourselves, we should try to penetrate 
the mysteries of God. He manifested Himself 
once for His own wise purposes, He hides Himself 
now for the same. It must have been very glo- 
rious to have talked face to face with Jesus; but 
prayer is still left us, and we must pray.” 

“ But I would rather talk to Him,” still persisted 
Marion. 

“ And was this what you were thinking about 
all the time you were standing in the porch ?” 

“ No, I did not think of this at all then, I was 
wishing I was poor.” 

“ Poor ! — Why ?” 

“ Because then I should have some companions. 
All the cottage children seemed so happy together 
when they came out of church, that I quite dreaded 
going home to be by myself.” 

“ Have you not your dear mamma?” 

“Yes, but Miss Leicester is spending the after- 
noon with us, and she talks all the time to mamma, 
and so I have nothing to do but to walk about the 
garden and read Sunday books, unless I go and 
talk to nursey, who likes to read herself, and does 
not like to be bothered. I can amuse myself many 
ways on other days with such things as my music, 
but all the hymns I know are the Sicilian Mariner’s 
and the Evening Hymn, and I can’t play anything 
but sacred music on Sunday.” 


21 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ Of course not. And so Sunday is a dull day, 
is it?” 

“ Yes, very.” 

“ I am sorry to hear it.” 

“ I cannot help it ; it is not my fault. What 
ought I to do ?” 

“ Read, pray, and meditate.” 

“So I do, Mr. Lisle, as well as I can, and as 
much as I can; but though I like religious books, 
some of them very much, I do get tired of reading 
them after awhile, and then comes my dull time. 
Why, I get so sick of doing nothing, that I get 
quite tired for the evening service. If you had not 
preached such a nice sermon this evening, I should 
have gone to sleep.” 

The clergyman smiled. “ I am glad you liked it.” 

There was a silence for a few minutes, during* 
which Marion seemed very thoughtful. 

“ I want to ask you a question, Mr. Lisle, about 
something that makes me feel very sorry,” she said, 
at length. 

“ What is it ?” 

“Are people generally, do you think, as wicked 
as they are in Ennington?” 

“ In Ennington ! — What do you mean ?” 

“ Miss Leicester says there is hardly a good per- 
son ’anywhere about here. Did you not know it?” 

“ I do not understand you,” replied the curate, 
with a face of blank astonishment. 

“Would you like me to tell you all Miss Lei- 
cester said ?” 


22 


Man 'on Howard; or , 


“ Yes,” said Mr. Lisle, after a moment’s hesita- 
tion, and rising from the wall on which he had 
been seated. 

“ Well, she says Greaves the butcher is a cheat, 
and so are Mr. Scott and Father Gribble ; and that 
Bill Rogers is sure to be hanged, for he is going 
all the wrong way. It seems everybody is wicked, 
even that pretty little Mary Dawson that used to 
work for us.” 

“ Is this all ?” he asked. 

“No, indeed it is not. She said something about 
my dear friend Mr. Bernard, that has made me feel 
quite wretched. She says he kills more people 
than he cures. Do you think he does it on pur- 
pose ? He .seems so very good.” 

“ Mr. Bernard !” exclaimed the curate. “ Good 
heavens, what will she say next ! What a — ” he 
stopped with an effort. “ No, my child, Miss Lei- 
cester is mistaken. Mr. Bernard is a clever doctor, 
and one of the best men I know.” 

“ So I thought. I will tell mamma what you 
say.” 

“ No, do not mention him ; I will call on mamma 
myself to-morrow, and then I can speak to her 
about him. Are these all the wicked people?” 

“ No, not nearly all,” and she repeated the slan- 
derer’s tale, in which so many a fair fame had been 
blackened that the clergyman’s heart was fairly 
wrung. 

“ Marion,” he observed, as they left the church- 
yard, “ it will be better for you to say no more to 


Trials and Triumphs. 23 

any one else about all this you have been telling 
me. I do not, of course, suppose that Miss Leices- 
ter' has been telling your mamma wilful untruths in 
all this; but she is quite mistaken, the people of' 
Ennington are very good. Of course they have 
their faults, but who has not ? The greater part 
of them are poor, and want brings with it many 
temptations of which those more favorably situated 
rarely dream. It is our place to try and make them 
better, to teach them from our superior knowledge, 
and to help them with our time, advice, and money, 
so far as we are able. Would you like to visit for 
me, and teach in our schools ?” 

“ Mamma would not let me, perhaps, or else I 
should very much like to do so. But what could I 
teach them ?” 

“To love God, and to be good.” 

“ But I am not good myself.” 

There was so much ingenuousness in the reply, 
that Mr. Lisle could hardly repress a smile. 

“ Suppose I ask mamma about it, myself; if she 
will let us have you, we shall know how to make 
you useful, that is, if you like it yourself.” 

“ O, I should, . indeed I should,” and the blue 
eyes danced again. 

“ How old are you ?” 

“ Twelve. Mamma says I am a great baby for 
my age, and so I suppose I am. My cousins in 
London are quite women by the side of me, and 
they are very little older.” And Marion looked 
down almost dejectedly. 


24 


Marion Howard; or, 


“You are quite womanly enough to please me, 
Marion,” replied the curate, gently. 

“Am I ?” said the child, chasing the shadow with 
a very bright smile. 

“Have you heard from India lately?” 

“ No, not for a long time. Mamma says that 
perhaps, as Edward is only my half-brother, as he 
grows older and makes new friends, he will not 
write to us so often as he did once. This makes 
me feel very unhappy, for he used to write me such 
dear nice letters. But I think mamma must be 
mistaken, you know ; for the very last time he 
wrote he said he would save money as fast as he 
could, to come over to England to see his little 
Golden-hair. Isn’t that a funny name to call me 
by ? but he always does. I am quite used to it 
now.” 

The curate glanced at the lovely curls that 
shaded the sweet face. 

“Would you like to see him?” 

“ Of course I would ; but I have a portrait that he 
sent me last summer, and I kiss that every night, 
and so feel a little as though I had him. He 
seems much more real than he did before the 
portrait came.” 

“I can well understand that,” replied the curate. 

“Then that is very much what I feel about our 
Lord. Even the picture of Him makes Him seem 
more real, because I fancy what he used to be. 
Mamma has one, called the ‘ Man of Sorrows,’ that 
I could look at for ever. This is not wrong, is it?” 


25 


Trials and Triumphs. 

»T^^>«sNL« 

“ Very wrong ; so wrong that you make me 
almost uneasy to hear you talk so. * Worship God 
in spirit and in truth/ and do not trouble your 
head about any such nonsense. Take care, little 
one ; the lamb must keep very close to the fold of 
the Good Shepherd. Good-night.” 

“Won’t you come in?” asked the child, opening 
the garden gate. 

“ Not to night. Tell mamma I will call to-mor- 
row morning.” He took her hand and looked 
earnestly into her blue eyes. There was something 
in the little form before him that interested him 
very deeply. “ Good-night, Golden-hair.” 

Had another spoken the word, she would have 
resented it almost as a sacrilege. But a smile 
mantled over her face as she watched his retreat- 
ing figure down the little street. “ I wonder if 
Edward is at all like him,” she mused. “ Mr. Lisle 
is only three years older; but one is a soldier and 
the other is a clergyman. They must be very dif- 
ferent.” 

3 



CHAPTER II. 


* 


^RS. HOWARD was not displeased with the 
curate’s message. Even she could hardly 




fail to be gratified by the friendship of a 
man so universally beloved, notwithstanding 
her indifference to Ennington society in general. 
Whether, however, she lingered longer than usual 
over her morning toilette, we shall not inquire, or 
whether Marion would have been permitted to pluck 
quite so bright a bouquet, had it not been in honor 
of the anticipated visitor : be all this as it may, it 
would have been hard to determine whether the 
lady herself, her child, or the flowers, looked the 
most blooming when the curate was ushered into 


the room, where, under the direction of her mother, 
Marion was copying a bust of Ulysses. 

“ I am afraid I am interrupting the lessons,” he 
observed, drawing back. 

“ Not at all; we were just about to put by, for 
Marion has been very industrious.” 

“ May I look ?” he asked, taking up her drawing. 
“ You have caught the great hero's expression 

26 


Trials and Triumphs . 


2 7 


exactly,” he continued ; “I had no idea you were 
such a skilful little artist! One hardly knows 
which to admire most, the science of the teacher, 
or the aptness of the pupil ; both must have had 
their share in producing such a sketch as this.” 
Marion blushed with pleasure, for she felt the 
kind criticism was sincere. 

“ How long has she learned ?” he asked. 

“ Ever since she could hold a pencil,” replied the 
mother ; “ but Marion has a decided talent for 
drawing. Run and fetch your portfolio, perhaps 
Mr. Lisle would like to look through it.” 

“ Indeed I should. The idea of a child of her 
age producing anything like that outline, is most 
surprising,” he observed, as Marion closed the door 
behind her; “it is boldness itself!” 

Mrs. Howard smiled, a warm, genuine, gratified 
smile, no relation at all to those she bestowed on 
poor little Miss Leicester. 

Mr. Lisle was a long time examining the port- 
folio. “You seem fond of religious subjects,” he 
remarked, as he turned over copies of Raphael’s 
Madonna, and more than one Ecce Homo. 

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Howard, “and as I wish her 
to cultivate her own taste, rather than an acquired 
one, I have taken some pains to procure the copies. 
Do not you like them ?” 

“ I prefer other subjects.” 

“May I ask why? You surely do not see any 
harm in them ?” 

“There may be, or there may not,” he replied, 


28 


Marion Howard; or> 


gravely. “ Marion has imagination, which is a bad 
element to bring into religion, when all should be 
simple matter of fact. You, as her mother, can 
best judge whether these pictured representations 
of mighty truths have an evil effect upon her.” 

Mrs. Howard was a woman of the world, and 
could talk well and wisely of its learning, science, 
and fashion ; but things “ not of the world” were 
out of her scope, and of everything except the 
broadest doctrines of Christianity she was pro- 
foundly ignorant. Whether imagination was, or 
was not a legitimate element of religion, it had 
never entered into her mind to question, and she 
hastened to change the subject, lest she should get 
beyond her depth. 

“ Are you fond of flowers, Mr. Lisle?” 

“Very,” was the laconic reply, as he continued 
to turn over the drawings, admiring and criticising 
by turns. 

“And, so this is your idea of your brother 
Edward, is it?” he asked, holding up a pencil 
drawing of a soldier, under which “ Edward” was 
written in a very round hand. 

“ No, not at all now, for I have his proper por- 
trait; shall I show it to you ?” 

It was certainly a portrait of a brother of whom 
one might be proud, and Mr. Lisle thought so as 
he looked at it. 

“ He is a very noble looking fellow, this son 
of yours !” he exclaimed, glancing up at Mrs. 
Howard. 


2 9 


Trials and Triumphs . 

The flush of annoyance that passed over her 
countenance, showed him at once that the relation- 
ship was not a pleasing one ; but remembering 
that “a rent is sometimes better than a darn,” he 
continued, without appearing to observe her vexa- 
tion : 

“ I suppose I shall some day have the pleasure 
of knowing him. I hope so, for I am sure I should 
like him, from his fine open face. Although so dif- 
ferent, I can trace a likeness between him and his 
sister.” 

Marion crept nearer to the speaker; to be con- 
sidered like Edward, was delightful to her. 

“ I am so glad you think so !” she exclaimed ; 
“ but I should wish to be like him in other things, 
too. Mamma and I saw a gentleman last year in 
London, the one who brought us this portrait, and 
he says, no one has any idea of the good he does 
among the soldiers.” 

“ Indeed ! Then, if he sets her such an example, 
little Golden-hair must certainly try to follow in his 
footsteps, and this is no bad introduction to the 
main object of my visit ; for do you know, mamma,” 
he added, with a smile, “ that I have come to ask 
you to let Marion help us a little with our schools 
and poor. I know we have tested your liberality 
often, but we really need workers in our little 
vineyard, almost as much as means for carrying on 
its operations. I am sure you will try and let her 
do something for us. I know that she would soon 
grow to like the work, and I promise not to over- 


30 Marion Howard; or ; 

burden her. It would help to form her character, 
in many ways.” 

Mrs. Howard was silent. She did not wish to 
give a flat refusal, but, to mix with the lower 
classes in any way, was a formation of her daugh- 
ter’s character which she by no means desired. 
Calm, cold, and unapproachable, she was one who 
never unbent with her inferiors. Money she rarely 
withheld, but her sympathy she rarely bestowed ; 
and though often munificent, was never charitable. 
No gentle word ever accompanied her gift, no smile 
her still rarer advice. And while the poor felt it 
was their interest to conciliate her, they hated her 
for the indifference with which she treated them. 
With her servants she was the same. She expected 
from them no more than the duties for which she 
paid them, though she seldom excused their faults, 
but she never sought their confidence in their joys 
or sorrows, or advised them in their difficulties. 
They waited on her unthanked, the villagers made 
way for her unnoticed, while even the little chil- 
dren, who bobbed down before her on the path* 
were unrewarded by a single smile. 

“ I really cannot say,” she replied at length ; 
“ Marion is so perfectly unaccustomed to anything 
of the kind, that I am afraid you would find her 
more plague than profit.” 

“Not at all,” returned the curate, “I should only 
impose very light duties on her, for some time to 
come yet, and we should soon train her, with the 
cooperation of Mrs. Stebbing.” 


3i 


Trials and Triumphs. 

»TCi^ib<sx-t — 

“Mrs. Stebbing! I did not know that she took 
any active part in the parish.” 

“ But she most certainly docs. I have heard her 
husband say repeatedly, that she is as good to him 
as a second curate.” 

“ I understand,” sneered the lady; “ it is to please 
him she does it.” 

“ Not altogether,” replied Mr. Lisle, hurt at the 
tone ; “ she does it first from a high sense of duty, 
and secondly, to gratify him. Do these motives 
displease you ?” 

Mrs. Howard smiled incredulously. 

“Your flowers are very beautiful,” observed the 
gentleman, rising and walking to the French 
window ; “ might I ask a nearer view of them. I 
have never been around your garden yet.” 

“ Come then now, by all means,” said the lady, 
stepping out upon the lawn. The clergyman fol- 
lowed, and for some minutes they rambled among 
the flower-beds in silence until they reached a 
bench in a little corner, fragrant with honeysuckle 
and jasmine. 

“ I can see, Mrs. Howard, that you do not 
admire our friend, Mrs. Stebbing; may I ask why ?” 
asked the curate, suddenly. 

“ It is no case of either admiration or dislike,” 
answered the lady ; “ but I was rather amused at 
your considering her desire to gratify her old hus- 
band a praiseworthy motive of action, as though it 
were her interest to do anything else.” 

“ Pardon me, but I do not understand you.” 


32 


Marion Howard; or, 


“ Well, Mrs. Stebbing is, I can see, a favorite of 
yours; but you have asked me a question, and 
must not be offended at a frank answer. I have 
not a word to say against her; she seems a quiet, 
good-natured, prim little woman, though one, I 
should imagine, without much soul. But do you 
suppose that any one with any discernment cannot 
see that she married the doctor for his money, and 
that therefore it is clearly her interest to please 
him ? I do not blame her for trying to do so ; 
indeed, she would, I suppose, be wonderfully want- 
ing in common sense, were she to act otherwise.” 

“ But what has given you this idea, my dear 
madam ?” 

“ Why, for what other possible reason would a 
nice looking girl of two or three-and-twenty shut 
herself up with an old man of sixty, to find her sole 
recreation in beating the alphabet into the heads of 
stupid little children, binding up old men’s cuts and 
bruises, and listening from cottage to cottage to 
old women’s twaddle ? Excuse me, Mr. Lisle, but 
I must tell you that my ideas of district visiting are 
not very elevated.” 

“ I can see they are not,” replied the gentleman, 
“ and I hardly know whether your idea of Mrs. Steb- 
bing or her labor of charity is the more erroneous. 
But if you will permit me, I will tell you the truth, 
as it stands. Dr. Stebbing is eight-and-forty, old 
looking for his age, I grant, though such it is. 
His wife is twenty-seven. She is an heiress, but her 
property is entirely settled on herself by her hus- 


33 


Trials and Triumphs. 

band. If he carries out all the plans of improve- 
ment he has projected, his own money will be spent 
during his lifetime, so that she will have but small 
expectations at his death. It seems she first learned 
his worth about seven years ago, at the deathbed 
of her father, whom Dr. Stebbing attended as an 
old college friend. He saw the impression his 
kindness had made on the orphan girl, but wishing 
her to' see more of the world before linking herself 
to him for life, he left her undisturbed for three 
years. Finding, however, that she refused the 
most eligible offers, he presented himself to her as 
a suitor, and a happier couple I have never seen.” 
“ It seems, then, I have been misinformed; but 
I have been given clearly to understand, by a 
person who knows the rector and his wife, that my 
original surmise was true.” 

“ Then may I advise you to set that person right 
at your earliest opportunity, and give me as your 
authority in doing so? How deeply grieved poor 
Mrs. Stebbing would be, could she know the 
unworthy motives that have been imputed to her! 
Never was scandal more unjust than in this case. 
But I should have thought that you, who have 
lived so much longer in the parish than I, would, 
have known Mrs. Stebbing intimately.” 

“ Our old rector had only been dead a y£ar 
before you came, and the rectory was vacant some 
little time, so that I have only known Mrs. Steb- 
bing a few months longer than you, and although 
we occasionally exchange visits, we are still com- 


34 


Marion Howard ; or, 


paratively strangers to each other — we have so 
little in common.” 

“True,” was on the curate’s lips, but he re- 
pressed the word, and pondered the difficult task 
before him instead. Now or never, must he come 
to the object of his visit; now or never, must the 
proud woman at his side be humbled. Should he 
give way and suffer yesterday’s scandal to be 
repeated ? He leaned his cheek upon his hand, 
apparently absorbed in the contemplation of a bee 
struggling in the depths of a blue-bell. The morn- 
ing was very still, calm with that sweet summer 
stillness peculiar to a June day, when the sky 
above, radiant in its blueness, is unflecked by a 
single cloud. The trees over their heads stood 
motionless, while in the mid-day heat the very birds 
were silent. The only stirring sounds were the 
ripple of the little stream that bordered the garden 
with the hum of the mill it turned, the quiet cluck- 
ing of the hens on the opposite bank, and the sweet 
clear trill of Marion’s canary from the house. Yet 
all these distant sounds only made the silence 
around them more palpable, and more difficult for 
the Reverend Henry Lisle to break with his homily. 
It was not until his bee, having risen like an old 
toper from his cup, indulged them with an ani- 
mated buzz, that he commenced. 

“Mrs. Howard, will you give me leave to tell 
you one of the main objects of my visit?” 

The lady started ; there was something so 
earnest and yet so timid in his manner, that she 


Trials and Triumphs . 



hardly knew what to think. It would not, even if 
he did, be the first time that she had known infatu- 
ation bridge such a discrepancy. In an instant, 
however, she was collected, and adjusting the cuff 
of her dress. He had just mortified her, was he 
going to give her her revenge ? 

“ Last night,” he commenced, turning a little 
pebble with his stick, “ I had a long conversation 
with Marion, did she tell you of it ?” 

“ She simply said you had been talking to her. 
What was it about?” 

“About many things; but, led to the subject by 
her own childlike thoughts, our principal conversa- 
tion was of all the sad things she had heard Miss 
Leicester tell you concerning the village people, 
and allow me to say, my dear madam, for the 
greater part they were most untrue. You will per- 
haps think that I ought rather to have addressed 
myself to Miss Leicester, but she is, I fear, too far 
gone in this most miserable failing for anything I 
could say to have effect. She will always make mis- 
chief. It seems to be the very air she breathes, 
nothing can win or shame her from it. But will 
you allow me to remind you, my dear Mrs. Howard, 
that you at least have too much at stake, if only in 
your child, to encourage her in her most mischie- 
vous propensity? There is hardly one whose char- 
acter she last night aspersed before you and little 
Marion, whom I could not as easily justify as Mrs. 
Stebbing. I am only a young man, I know, and 
anything bordering on censure would be only imper- 
tinence ; but do let me warn you as a friend to dis- 


Marion Howard; or , 



countenance Miss Leicester’s stories before Marion, 
and, let me add, yourself. ‘ For every idle word that 
man shall speak, he shall give account thereof in 
the day of judgment.’ Marion began last night by 
asking me if the people were everywhere as wicked 
as in Ennington. Is this the spirit in which she 
should regard those among whom she has grown 
up from babyhood, this the light in which she 
should look on God’s poor? Are there not bright 
and beautiful things around, to give us subjects 
for conversation, without descending to the shadows 
of human frailty, if not to the actual degradation 
of sin ? I only repeat a fact patent throughout 
all the village, when I say that Miss Leicester is 
a dangerous woman. O ! for the sake of Him 
whose every breath was love, discourage her. I 
am anxious to see Marion useful among the poor, 
but it was rather to say all this to you than for 
anything else, that I trouble you this morning. 
You must not be angry with me.” 

“ Not at all,” replied the lady, with constrained 
politeness. 

“And may we have Marion?” 

“ I am afraid not. She has much to do in her 
studies for many years ; besides, surely Mrs. Steb- 
bing is enough for this small parish.” 

“So far from that, we have work enough for five 
or six tract distributors.” 

“ Mr. Lisle, I detest tract distributing — now you 
have the truth. Shall I give you my experience 
of it? My sister was what most people call a 
thorough Christian, and a district visitor.” 


37 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“Not much family likeness,” was the uncharita- 
ble thought that slipped through the gentleman’s 
mind. 

“That was when she was about eighteen; she 
grew worldly afterwards, for at five-and-twenty 
she eloped from a ball with a half-pay captain.” 

The curate made no reply. 

“‘But she was really very pious for all that,” she 
continued, curling her pretty lip. “ Now, shall I 
give you the programme of her proceedings? Her 
district was a crowded, dirty, narrow, ill-smelling 
court, rejoicing, as such localities often do rejoice, 
in the name of ‘ Beattie’s Gardens,’ I remember. 
Well, she used to knock at a door — if the poor 
things were dining, so much the worse ; if they were 
not, so much the better. In either case the last 
week’s tract must be sought for amid the grumbling 
of the husband and wife, and the squalling of the 
children, the former accusing each other of having 
lost it, the latter cuffed by their parents for not 
finding it. Then the mockery at other times of 
visiting a house where the cupboard was bare, and 
presenting them with a tract. Well, Mr. Lisle, I 
do not profess the cant of brotherhood with the 
workingman, nor do I see a sisterhood in starving 
seamstresses, but I could not do this. And what 
were these tracts, after all ? Sometimes a tirade 
against Romanism, in which Popery and Paganism 
were strangely jumbled, anecdotes of precocious 
children, who always died singing about Canaan, 
as a reward for being good, an inducement to 

many children, I should think, to keep naughty ; 

4 


38 


Marion Howard ; or y 


remarks on temperance, from the pens of reformed 
drunkards, publicly confessing their enormities with 
the greatest possible zest and effrontery; the whole 
seasoned with just the sort of ideas on religion 
one expects to hear in the vestry prayer-meeting 
of a Baptist chapel. Now, with such ideas as 
these on tracts and tract distributing, could I con- 
scientiously give you Marion ?’ 

“ Perhaps not,” replied Mr. Lisle, who saw that 
his companion was thoroughly annoyed. '‘But let 
me say that, although what }^ou have just said is 
in a measure true, you have stated the abuse, not 
the legitimate work and end of tract-lending. As 
a reverse to your picture, I would say, that to visit 
the sick and poor is to follow in the footsteps of 
Him who came not to be ministered to, but to min- 
ister ; and though in large towns the work is 
attended with all the difficulties you enumerate, 
especially if the visitors be inexperienced or wanting 
in discretion, as young ladies sometimes are, still in 
the country it is different. Here we seem to know, 
and take an interest in each person visited.” 

“ Granted, but the system remains the same. 
It seems to me to involve an unnecessary contact 
with uncultivated spirits and rough manners, from 
which the refined mind naturally shrinks. If a 
poor man wants aid, let him come and ask it, well 
and good ; but do not go to him. There is no 
necessity for it, for, depend upon it, the poor are 
never behindhand in making known their necessi- 
ties.” 

“ That the generality of the poor are not intru- 


Trials and Triumphs . 09 

»-> 

sive with their wants, short as my ministry has been, 
I know from experience ; while, if there is any- 
thing, my dear Mrs. Howard, that can exalt the 
already refined, it is the contact with God’s own 
poor. By this, one sees the utter worthlessness 
of human distinction and human wealth. What 
would not Dives have learned, think you, had he 
communed with Lazarus ? What girl could give 
all her time to pleasure, her heart to vanity, and her 
money to dress, if she felt that her fellow-creatures 
were perishing from want ? But if poverty has its 
own peculiar troubles, it has its own peculiar pride. 
You look incredulous, but it is true. As a rule, the 
respectable poor are behindhand in proclaiming 
their wants. I do not, of course, allude to those 
whom idleness has reduced to an indigence which 
they prefer to labor, but to those who, having. fallen 
through misfortune, struggle on, as hundreds, thou- 
sands do, unassisted, until discovered by some 
friendly passer-by. And in the ordinary course of 
a laborer’s life, there must be seasons when, even 
without misfortune, he needs assistance. Depend 
upon it, it is our duty to discover this, and to lend, 
when it is in our power, the helping hand, counsel- 
ling him in his perplexities, guiding him in his diffi- 
culties, and teaching him through all to look to 
God, and live for heaven. O, Mrs. Howard, can 
you dislike such a work of love as this, undertaken 
for Christ, continued in Christ, and ending only 
with Christ ?” 

She was silent, and once more the summer still- 
ness prevailed. Again the hens clucked, the 


40 


Marion Howard ; or , 


canary sang, and another bee buzzed in the blue- 
bell. Their reflections were very different ; he 
rejoicing truly that his task was over — she silently 
fuming, fretting and chafing. He had done his 
duty as a pastor — she had been lectured like a cot- 
tager, scolded like a child, talked to like a heathen. 
But the sun beginning to creep around among the 
roses and honeysuckles, their retreat began, like 
their conversation, to grow warm, and the curate 
rose to take his leave. They walked down the 
path together. “ May I have a rose ?” he asked, 
as they passed a cluster of bright buds. 

“Certainly:” but she neither stopped nor aided 
him to gather one. 

He plucked the flower himself, at the same time 
presenting one to her. 

“Thank you,” was the cool acceptance; “will 
you stay to luncheon ?” she asked, as they entered 
the house. 

“You must excuse me this morning, I have not 
yet been to the schools. Good-by. Marion, your 
bird sings nicely, he is the prime pet, I suppose ?” 

“ No, there is my real favorite, Mr. Lisle, my 
spoiled child,” and Marion pointed to her large 
gray cat, sunning himself on the lawn. “ Come 
here, Tyrza.” 

Tyrza loved his little mistress, but he loved sun- 
shine better, so he blinked his green eyes and 
stayed where he was. 

“ There, Mr. Lisle, what could I do with children, 
when even my cat is disobedient to me ?” 

“ You are not going to try, Marion,” replied her 


Trials and Triumphs . 


4 * 


mother, very quickly. “ I have told Mr. Lisle that 
you have enough to do, for the present, in your 
studies.” 

Marion’s countenance fell, but she stole a glance 
at a pair of quiet eyes, which said as plainly as eyes 
could speak, “ Patience, little Golden-hair.” 

So Mr. Lisle departed to the village school, with 
its motley children and sleepy hum; Mrs. Howard 
went up stairs to get over her discomfiture as she 
best might, while Marion sat in the summer-house 
with her needle-work and pussy, and thought of 
India and Edward far away. 




CHAPTER III. 


M 

X 

I 




was on the morning’ of the following day 
the postman handed Marion a letter over the 
railing of the little garden, where she was 
bustling about in her own fashion, tying, stick- 
irranging and watering. Passing it to her 
mother through the open window, she continued 
her work, every now and then interrupted by 
Tyrza, who was amusing himself with springing 
out, tiger fashion, on his mistress’ string, and then 
rolling over it in the exuberance of his feline joy. 

“ You are a nuisance, Tyrza, really you are !” was 
however, the only rebuke he met with, as half 
a dozen yards of the ball lay unwound on the 
path. 

“ Marion, come here a minute, 5 ’ was the sum- 
mons from the window; and Marion jumped up 
with so much alacrity, that Tyrza pretended to be 
startled, and scuttled off under a box-tree. 

Mrs. Howard, in the prettiest of little caps, and 
the neatest of morning dresses, was seated at the 
breakfast table, not yet cleared, with the letter open 
in her hand, which she handed to her little daugh- 
ter. It ran thus : 

42 


43 


Trials and Triumphs. 

11 My Dear Friend : 

You know it lias been a promise, even when our 
home was smoky, dirty Manchester, that you should 
visit us. While located there, however, I could 
never find it in my heart to urge you to leave your 
dear little retreat, much as I often longed for your 
society. You know this is not the language of 
compliment, for, linked as you are with my earliest 
recollections, I always look upon you, after my 
husband, children and brother (all that are left me 
now), as my nearest and dearest friend on earth. 
You are surprised, I can well imagine, that we have 
not been over to see you, considering that we have 
been here since March ; but there is so much to be 
done in settling and arranging such a large house- 
hold as mine really is now, that I could not manage 
it, nor did I wish you to come here until I could 
entertain you, and give you my time as I could 
wish. All is now straight ; when may we expect 
you, not for a day or two, but for a long, long visit, 
to make amends for our weary separation ? Only 
tell us the day you will be ready, and my husband 
will fetch you and dear little Marion, whom I long 
to see ; and heartily, most heartily, dearest Mar- 
garet, shall we welcome you to the Cedars. 

Mary Darrell.” 

“ Mamma, how delightful ! when will you go ?” 
cried Marion, whose eyes w T ere sparkling with rap- 
ture. 

4< Really, my dear child, I can hardly say. There 
are so many things to attend to, that I cannot see 


44 


Marion Howard; or, 


how I can possibly accept this invitation just now. 
Indeed, it is not improbable that I may have to go 
up to London next week ; for, in consequence of 
poor Captain Thompson’s death, who was the last 
remaining executor of your papa’s will, it is very 
likely I shall be wanted there ; and business, you 
know, must stand before everything.” 

“ Of course it must,” replied Marion, trying not 
to look disappointed. 

“How would you like to go without me?” 

“ O, not at all, mamma, let me stay with you.” 
“Spoiled child!” said her mother, drawing her 
to her, and kissing her. “ Well, we need not 
trouble ourselves about it now, as I shall not 
answer the letter till this evening; meantime I will 
think it over, and see what will be best for us to 
do. Now run back to your gardening.” 

Marion thought a great deal about the Cedars, 
but no more was said upon the subject during the 
day, which happened to be rather a busy one for 
Mrs. Howard, and it was with a palpitating heart 
that the little girl saw her mamma seat herself at 
her desk in the evening. 

“ Marion, come here.” 

Marion obeyed, and marched up to the little table 
to hear sentence pronounced. 

“ No, my dear child, I have considered the 
matter well, and we must be reasonable, you know. 
I see I must go to London, and it would make me 
very uneasy, all the time of my stay there, to know 
that you were here by yourself, with no one to keep 
you company but Turner.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 


45 


“ But cannot I go with you ? I always do/* 
pleaded Marion. 

“No, my dear; this time your aunts are out of 
town, and I shall have to be poor Mrs. Thompson’s 
guest; and even if she had given you an invitation, 
which she has not, the house of mourning would 
be a dull scene for your midsummer holidays. I 
think, therefore, if Mrs. Darrell will kindly take 
charge of you, I should like you to go to her.” 

“ Very well, mamma. I dare say I shall be very 
happy, but you know I have never been anywhere 
without you, and I am afraid I shall feel strange. 
Tell me about Mrs. Darrell : what is she like ? 
Have you known her long?” 

“ She and Mr. Darrell are, I think I may say, 
Marion, the two nicest people I ever knew, and 
when I saw their children, which was, however, 
many years ago, when they were quite little, they 
bade fair to be as good as their parents ; at any rate 
they have, I know, been well brought up. The only 
peculiarity about the family is that they are Catho- 
lics. This is not surprising in Mrs. Darrell, who 
is an Irishwoman, but I can never understand why 
her husband should be one, there seems to me 
something so un-English in a Catholic.” 

“ Roman Catholic, you must say, mamma,” 
laughed Marion. “ Mr. Lisle says we are Catho- 
lics !” 

“Ah, Mr. Lisle says a great many things,” re- 
plied Mrs. Howard, angrily. 

Poor little Marion looked astounded. 

“ Well, it does not much matter, Catholics or 


46 


Marion Howard ; or, 

Roman Catholics, they are very nice and very 
good people. When I first knew Mrs. Darrell she 
was a girl at school. You have heard me speak of 
Mary St. Ledger, and her wild tricks ?” 

“Yes, very often ; but I did not know that she 
was the same as Mrs. Darrell, or that she was not 
a Protestant.” 

“With regard to her religion, school girls seldom 
trouble themselves much about that. She belonged 
to an old Irish family, who prided themselves as 
much on their popery as their pedigree, thouhg one 
was pretty nearly as inexplicable to me as the other.” 
“ Did you ever try to make her a Protestant ?” 

“ I ? Marion, what a notion ! No such an idea 
ever came into my head; and if it had, I should 
have been puzzled where to begin ; for, however 
thoughtless we Protestant girls may have been, 
Mary St. Ledger certainly had her religion at her 
fingers’ ends, and could have silenced any one of 
us in two minutes.” 

“ Where were you at school with her, mamma ?” 
“In Paris; we were there together for two 
years.” 

“ Used you ever go to the Catholic Church with 
her ?” 

“ Not with her particularly, but on great days we 
English girls used to go with the school ; but I 
could never make much of the services.” 

“Did you ever ask her what they meant?” 
“Not that I remember. Although I was you no* 
at the time, I was old enough to see the folly of 
worshipping God with so much show and nonsense. 


Trials and Triumphs . 


47 


I had been told to take care that they did not make 
a Catholic of me, but there was no occasion fjr the 
warning. As I never spoke to Mary of her religion, 
except to ridicule it, she was not likely to make it 
a theme of conversation. In everything else we 
two were very great friends, and in after years, on 
our return to England, circumstances cemented us 
more closely. Mr. St. Ledger’s family, as well as 
my own, lived in London, so that Mary and I fre- 
quently interchanged visits. It was at a ball given 
by Mr. St. Ledger, when his daughter came of age, 
that I first met your papa. Mary was already 
engaged to Mr. Darrell, and our weddings took 
place within a month of each other. As I had 
been married five years before you were born, her 
children were all rather older than you. When 
you were a year old, they went to settle in Man- 
chester, and except once, about four years ago, and 
then only for a few hours at your aunt’s, I have never 
seen them since. I know you will like them both, 
and I am quite certain Mrs. Darrell will do all in 
her power to make you happy.” 

And so a letter was written, explaining how mat- 
ters stood ; and by an answer, received the next 
day, it was arranged that Marion should be brought 
the following week, and remain Mrs. Darrell’s guest 
during her mother’s absence. 

It was again Sunday, and again came the usual 
Sunday routine. Marion rose at eight, said her 
prayers, read her chapter, and then walked around 
and around the garden till breakfast time. After 
breakfast, came another walk up and down the path 


48 Marion Howard; or , 

with solemn old Baxter in her hand, and after this 
the morning service in the little gray church with a 
very “ ponderous sermon” by Dr. Stebbing, while the 
hour between church time and dinner was spent in 
dressing and redressing her mother’s beautiful long 
hair. But with the afternoon came the time that 
poor little Marion found so weary, and yet it was 
better to-day than it had been the Sunday before, for 
Miss Leicester did not come, and the little girl and 
her mother had it all to themselves. Mrs. Howard 
was soon asleep, not so Marion. She read the Pil- 
grim’s Progress and the Holy War till she was tired, 
and littered her Sunday library about in all direc- 
tions, in the vain hope of finding something fresh. 
Naughty child! how lovingly she glanced at her 
drawing-case and paint-box, at the piano, and the 
long rows of “ Chambers’ Words,” not half read 
through. “ Now, if it were not Sunday,” she began, 
but checked herself immediately. The recollection 
of Mr. Lisle’s grave look, in answer to her com- 
plaint that “ Sunday was a dull day,” flitted across 
her mind. This brought with it a thought that had 
occupied her not a little during the last few days. 
“ Why is mamma so vexed with Mr. Lisle ? I was 
afraid she w T ould be angry at the idea of my teach- 
ing in the Sunday-school, but I wish very much 
she would have let me do something, for I am so 
dull like this. This time next week I suppose I 
shall not be here.” 

A host of anticipations here somewhat distracted 
her awhile, and walking out again into the garden 
she seated herself with Tyrza on the little bench, 


49 


Trials and Triumphs . 

the scene of Mrs. Howard’s conversation with her 
spiritual pastor. “ Pussy,” she exclaimed at length, 
growing tired of her musings, “ cats must be very 
happy, I should think, to be allowed to do what 
they like on Sundays. God made you as well as me, 
and I wonder why he lets you catch mice and frisk 
about and purr, while I cannot do anything. I 
suppose it is because you have no soul ; is that the 
reason, should you think, little pussy ? I wonder 
what people do in heaven,” she continued, after a 
pause ; “ Dr. Stebbing says it will be an eternal 
Sabbath. Dear me, how strange ! I am sure it 
must be something very different to this, or many 
people would not be happy there at all.” 

At this moment she caught sight of old Turner, 
who, in her Sunday gown, white apron, and quaint 
old fashioned cap, with its bow of black ribbons on 
the top, was walking slowly down to her. 

“ O, nursey, I am so glad you have come ! I 
thought you had gone out, and I want some one 
to talk to.” 

The old woman smiled. “ Well, deary, it’s not 
much you’ll get by talking to the likes of me.” 
“Nursey, do you like Sunday?” 

“Bless you, Miss Marion, of course I do; isn’t it 
the Lord’s day?” 

“Yes, but for all that, don’t you sometimes get 
tired of it ?” 

“No, never, Miss Marion, it’s all too short for me.” 
“ What do you do to amuse yourself, then, all 
the afternoon and evening?” 

“ I read my Bible, my dear, and sometimes I think 


50 


M avion Howard ; or, 

about my poor old husband, and how he and me 
used to sit together in the old times, and how we 
shall be together again some day, in the Lord’s 
good time, in heaven.” 

“Nursey, what do you think heaven is like?” 

“A beautiful, bright place, child, where the 
angels are flying about singing, and where we shall 
always be together all dressed in white, with golden 
crowns on our heads, and playing hymns on golden 
harps forever.” 

“ Don’t you think, nursey, at least, don’t you 
think, perhaps — people will get tired of doing this 
always?” 

“ Of course not; it isn’t right to talk like that, 
Miss Marion. But,” added the woman, tenderly, 
seeing Marion’s abashed look, “ come here, and I 
will tell you what I think. We oughtn’t to worret 
ourselves any way about it; heaven, perhaps, is 
something very different to that; we can’t tell, but 
we know it is as beautiful as God Almighty can 
make it, and, any rate, that ought to satisfy us.” 

“Yes,” returned the child, thoughtful, “if he 
has made this world so beautiful, heaven must 
be something better, I see. But, nursey, I do not 
fancy it as you do.” 

“ Never mind, child, what you do fancy, as long 
as you try to get there, by putting your trust in 
your Saviour.” 

“ Nursey, there is one thing that always puzzles 
me, and that is, how very good and clever people 
can have just the same happiness as those who 
are only pretty good, or who know very little.” 


5i 


Trials and Triiiniphs. 

“Well, I’ll tell you, Miss Marion, a thing as 
has sometimes come into my head. If you fill a 
half-pint pot up to the rim, it can’t hold no more, 
nor a quart neither. If you was to try to pour a 
quart of water into the little measure, it couldn’t 
hold it, because, don’t you see, it wouldn’t be in 
its nature ; but a half a pint of water would leave a 
very big gap in the quart pot. This is how I 
think it is in heaven. St. Paul is the quart pot. 
I perhaps, am the half pint. The glory God will 
give to him will be more than I could bear, while my 
glory in heaven will be enough for the likes of me, 
but hardly more p’raps than St. Paul had here.” 

“ O, Turner, what a funny notion!” exclaimed 
Marion, laughing heartily, while the old woman 
joined her; “ but I am sure it is very true. Even 
Mr. Lisle never said anything better than that in 
his sermons.” 

“ Mr. Lisle! the Lord love his sweet face!” 
"He is very good, isn’t he, Nursey?” 

“As good as gold!” replied the old woman, 
enthusiastically. “ He’s been here only two years, 
but the people all about love him as much as if he 
had been born and bred among them.” 

“ Do you know where he came from ?” asked 
Marion. 

“Lrom Scotland. This was the first ministry he 
was ever in. He was ordained, so I am told, only 
a month before he came here. His father and 
mother have been dead some time, and I heard 
some one say as he has no near relation but one 
sister married, and that’s all I know about him.” 


52 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“ Is he rich, should you think ?” 

“ They say he has only got what he gets for 
being here; but howsomever he does more with the 
little lie’s got, than some people do with thousands 
on thousands. There’s more than one old man and 
woman in the place as would be on the parish, if it 
wasn’t for him. The Lord love him, I say.” 

At this moment the summons arrived to tea, and 
with a kiss on the old nurse’s withered cheek, 
Marion ran quickly into the house. 

Mrs. Howard did not go to church, but stayed 
at home to write letters instead. Again Marion 
started on her quiet walk up the sunny street, 
again the villagers lingered on the side-paths, and 
by their doors. Was it that nature’s holiday dress 
was gayer, or was it that the cloud of distrust 
had cleared away since her conversation with Mr. 
Lisle? However it may have been, Marion felt 
very happy, and returned each friendly greeting 
with her own bright smile. Again Bill Rogers 
met her. 

“Do you think you could get me a few more 
primrose roots this week ?” she asked, gently. 

Bill looked up, the repulse of last Sunday even- 
ing was neither forgiven nor forgotten, but the 
bright eyes were too much for him. 

“ Lots on ’em, Miss.” 

“I am so glad; how is your mother?” 

“ Much about the same,” answered the boy. 
“ She’ll never be much better, they say,” and, 
uncouth as he was, Marion saw something very 
like a wet eyelash. 


53 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“Will you give her this?” asked Marion, taking 
sixpence from her little purse. “ Good evening.” 
Again Bill stood and looked after her. 

“Miss Howard!” 

Marion stopped. 

“Would you like a nest of young linnets?” 

“ O, no, no ! indeed I would not !” replied Marion, 
most emphatically; “please Bill, don’t rob the 
poor little things of their young ones for me. It is 
so very cruel !” 

Bill grinned, not knowing what else to do. 

“No ; get me the flower roots, if you can, but not 
the birds. Are you going to church?” 

“No, I can’t say as I be,” replied the boy; “I 
was there this morning, and at school this after- 
noon, and I think that’s enough for a lad as works 
hard all the week. Some folks don’t seem to think 
so though, but I cannot help that.” 

Marion glanced at the bronzed and freckled face, 
and toil-worn hands of the plough-boy. “ He is 
right,” was the judgment of the warm little heart. 

Mr. Lisle was to take his ease, it seemed, to- 
day, for once again Dr. Stebbing mounted the 
pulpit, and the result, as usual, was a very dry 
sermon, extremely uninteresting to Marion, who 
thought more of the Cedars during its delivery, 
than justification by faith. On leaving the church 
she was joined by the rector’s wife, and the 
reverend gentleman himself soon after overtaking 
them, they all three walked together towards the 
rectory. 

Marion could not have said why, but she always 


54 


Marion Howard; or> 


felt a vast amount of awe in the presence of Dr. 
Stebbing. It was not his face, which was good- 
humor personified, not his antique dress, nor his 
rather blunt manner, but there was something in 
the tout ensemble that always made her feel ner- 
vous. 

“ It is such a lovely evening, will you not come 
in and walk a little with us around the garden?” 
asked Mrs. Stebbing. “ Mamma will hardly expect 
you yet.” 

“ Do, my child,” said the rector, kindly. 

Marion entered the door which he held open, and 
having spent some time in inspecting the cabinets 
and curiosities, ranged around the old-fashioned 
library, the little party adjourned to the garden. 
It was very pleasant; the evening was so calm and 
still, with the sun setting amid a gorgeous pile of 
blood-red clouds, stretching from one side of the 
horizon to the other. The mill-stream, with which 
the rectory garden, like their own, was bounded^ 
flowed lazily on, unruffled save by the flutter, now 
and then, of a minnow below, or the kiss of a 
dragon above. Crowds of merry gnats danced 
around, bees hummed their homeward flight, and 
birds twittered in the trees above. The gossamer, 
too, spun their silken toil, the frog croaked in the 
meadow, the grasshopper chirped at their feet. 
Everything lay hushed in a silent dreamy beauty, 
now broken by the voices of our friends, as they 
walked backwards and forwards by the side of the 
stream. Marion’s share in the conversation was 
however extremely limited, for notwithstanding all 


55 


Trials and Triumphs . 

the efforts of her host and hostess to make her 
feel at home with them, all they could get from 
her were monosyllables in reply. A step on the 
gravel made them turn their heads, and Mr. Lisle 
joined them. 

“ Here, Mr. Lisle,” exclaimed the rector, after a 
few minutes’ conversation on parish matters, “see if 
you can make this young lady talk ; she is wonder- 
fully silent with us. Try what your magic words 
can do.” 

“What is the matter, Marion?” asked the curate, 
pulling one of her long curls, as the rector and his 
wife turned off down a side path. 

“Nothing at all, Mr. Lisle; but really, there has 
been nothing for me to say. I answered all the 
questions I was asked.” 

“ But you manage to chat very merrily some- 
times, don’t you ?” 

“Yes, when I have anything to say; but people 
should not talk for the sake of talking, should 
they ?” 

“ Well, Marion, it depends. Sometimes, to talk 
for talking sake is a great kindness, but it is 
certain more often a great folly, as in the case 
of half the small-talk we are frequently doomed 
to listen to.” 

“Small-talk. What is that?” 

“ It is the uttering of a great many words, 
without any aim but that of simply passing the 
time God has given to improve. I have heard it 
spoken of as an acquisition to a person’s style, that 
he or she had plenty of small-talk at command ; 


56 


Marion Howard ; or , 


but for myself, I have generally found such people 
more wearisome than anything else one meets 
with in society. I do think, however, that a man 
or woman with real conversational powers is a 
social treasure, to be highly prized for its 
rarity.” 

“ I would rather be always silent, than talk 
&bout nothing.” 

“ Well decided !” laughed the clergyman. “Are 
not those clouds beautiful ?” he asked, pointing to 
the west. “ Might not one almost imagine it was 
a little glimpse of heaven shining through, to 
encourage us ?” 

“ I hope it will be fine to-morrow for my journey. 
Do you know I am going away ?” 

‘‘No; where are you going, and for how long?” 

“ I do not know for how long, but we have 
received an invitation from Mrs. Darrell, a very 
old friend of mamma’s. Mr. Darrell has just bought 
an estate at Harley ford, called the Cedars, do you 
know it?” 

“Yes, Harleyford is about nine miles from here, 
and a nice, clean, brisk little town it is. Let 
me see — the Cedars. Surely I have heard some- 
thing about that house.” 

“ It is rather an old one, I believe, and takes its 
name from two beautiful cedar trees on the lawn at 
the back.” 

“The Cedars — Darrell,” continued the curate, 
thoughtfully; “to be sure, I remember; he bought 
the property last March ; but, Marion, somebody 
told me they were Romanists !” 


57 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ So they are ; won’t it be strange ?” 

“ Strange ! child, you do not mean to say you 
are going !” 

“Yes, I am really, to-morrow.” 

“ What ! to stay in the house of a Romanist 
family at your tender age, and with your imagina- 
tion ?” 

“ Why, Mr. Lisle, what harm will it do me ? 
Do tell me what Catholics are, for I really do 
not know.” 

“ Roman Catholics !” said the pastor, crossly. 
“ What are they ? — as people, they may be very 
well, but their religion !” 

“ Is what ?” asked the child, nervously. 

“Is a gigantic lie. Were it only the thing of 
mummery and buffoonery it appears at first sight, 
it would not mislead bright spirits, as it has done, 
and is still doing. You are too young to under- 
stand all its mighty pretensions, claiming, as it 
does, infallibility and authority direct from God, or 
the intense presumption that says to every other 
religion and sect upon earth, ‘ I am right, and you 
are wrong.’ Marion, it is antichrist, it is the Baby- 
lon denounced in the Revelations, it is the master- 
piece of Satan ! In the place of Christ, of that 
Saviour who died for them, they place the Virgin 
Mary, and where they pray once to God, they 
pray many times to her. And no wonder ! Why 
should they look to Heaven for pardon, when the 
words of a priest, laughing in his sleeve at their 
folly, can forgive their sins? or why look to the 
blood of a Saviour for redemption, when a few 


58 Marion Howard ; or , 

penances here, and a little purgatory hereafter, is a 
sufficient atonement for the blackest crimes? Ah ! 
little one, little one, your mother must indeed have 
confidence in her maternal influence ere she trusts 
you in such an atmosphere as this. O, Marion ! 
keep as close to her a5 possible, and away, as much 
as you can in common politeness, from even the 
children, should there be any. Should you get to 
love them, their priest, by an influence they dare 
not resist, will force them to wrest this very inno- 
cence of your heart to your eternal ruin. The 
more amiable Romanists appear, the more they 
are to be shunned ; for, depend upon it, Satan 
baits his hooks with the morsels sweetest to 
human nature. Believe me, I do not say all this 
in any uncharitable spirit, but the danger is immi- 
nent, and little Golden-hair is dear to us all. 
But keep near mamma, and I pray all may be 
well.” 

“ Mr. Lisle, I am going alone!” cried Marion, 
pale with excitement. 

“Then may God have mercy on you!” exclaimed 
the curate. 

There was a dead silence. The child trembled/ 
Mr. Lisle groaned. 

“Marion,” he said at length, “you are going 
among all these dangers; do you really think 
their blandishments will have no power to turn 
your young heart from God ?” 

“ No, I am sure they will not.” 

“ Beware of presumption,” he replied, sternly. 
“Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.” 


59 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ I mean that, I really do.” 

“Well, then, my child, I commend you to God. 
Now, look here,” he added, drawing a small book 
from his pocket, “ this has been my companion for 
some years now ; it once belonged to a friend that I 
shall never see again. One who — well, never mind, 
I shall be quite upset if I begin upon that. Now, 
promise me, whenever you see anything wrong, or, 
worse still, anything that appears to you inviting, 
to take this out and read a chapter, or if you have 
not time for that, a few lines. Then you will be 
safe, for no girl ever read her Bible and became a 
Romanist. But come, it is getting chilly, or you 
will take cold.” 

They walked towards the house as he spoke, and 
found the doctor and Mrs. Stebbing at the door. 

“And has our little friend found her tongue?” 
asked the good-humored rector, seizing her by the 
chin. “Why, what’s the matter, Lisle?” he asked, 
that gentleman’s vexation being plainly visible. 

“ I have been grieved that Miss Howard is going 
to visit a Roman Catholic family, and that Mrs. 
Howard will be unable to accompany her.” 

“ Whew !” whistled the doctor. “ Dangerous 
work that.” 

“ How inconsiderate!” whispered Mrs. Stebbing, 
aside to the curate. 

“ Don’t you be turning Papist !” cried the rector, 
“ or you shall not come back into my parish, where 
there is not one but poor O’Leary, the cobbler. 
As for him though, he is a perfect pattern ol reli- 
gious zeal. Why, that man walks over to Harley- 


6o 


Marion Howard ; or y 


% 


ford and back every Sunday to church ! I wonder 
which of our parishioners would do that, Lisle, eh ? 
Eighteen miles every Sunday ! Sunshine, rain, . 
snow, or hail, he never misses, unless he is ill.” 

“ I have always heard it said that we might do 
well in copying the zeal of the Roman Catholics in 
their religion,” observed his wife. 

“ How fast they are increasing !” exclaimed the 
rector. “I cannot understand it.” 

“And growing bolder every day,” said Mr. Lisle; 
“but, no wonder, with the encouragement they 
get. Look at their churches and convents !” 

“ What ! are there convents in England ?” asked 
Marion, astonished. 

“To be sure there are,” replied the rector. 

“ With monks and nuns inside, like those we 
read of hundreds of years ago ?” continued Marion. 

“Yes, just the same,” said Mr. Lisle. “It is one 
of Popery’s proudest vaunts that she never changes. 
What she is now, she was in the time of Mary and 
Catharine de Medicis. The lion’s nature is the same, 
whether chained, or ranging in his native woods.” 

“ They were very dreadful then,” said Marion. 
“They say Queen Mary burnt even children and 
little babies. What a dreadful woman she must 
have been !” 

“ Stop, my child !” exclaimed the rector, “ we 
must make allowance for the times, which were 
very barbarous. I believe Mary to have been a 
bigoted, fanatical woman, but not the demon incar- 
nate most historians paint her.” 

“ But if the Catholic religion teaches people such 


6i 


Trials and Triumphs . 

dreadful things,” said Marion, “ for I remember 
now that somebody once told me that they even 
worship images, why does not God put a stop to it ? 
Why does He let them increase ?” 

“ Almost as puzzling a question,” exclaimed 
Doctor Stebbing, laughing, “as when Friday asked 
Robinson Crusoe, ‘ Why God no kill de devil ?’ I 
do not know, my love; for purposes we cannot 
fathom. But we must not be uncharitable in talk- 
ing of even what we know to be wrong ; Roman 
Catholics do not worship images, they only rever- 
ence them with the same species of affection that 
we show to earthly things. In the same spirit 
exactly, that you would kiss and fondle a portrait 
of your poor papa, the Romanist kisses his little 
crucifix, and as the peers of the realm bow even 
to the vacant throne of their sovereign, when she 
herself is absent, so do Catholics bow to the images 
of their saints, absent from earth.” 

“ I do believe you are a little bit of a Papist your- 
self, John,” whispered his wife, while Mr. Lisle 
look decidedly blank. 

“ No, not at all,” laughed the good-natured doc- 
tor, “but ‘fair play’s a jewel and I must say, the 
Catholics seldom get it from us. For instance, 
how often do we hear people say that they have 
expunged the second commandment altogether, 
finding it too hard upon their so-called idolatry.” 
“ Where is it, then, if they have not done so ?” 
asked the curate. 

“ Where it ought to be ; in their prayer-books, 

and books of instruction.” 

6 


62 


Marion Howard; or , 

“ Pardon me, Dr. Stebbing !” 

“ Pardon me, Mr. Lisle, but I know what I am 
talking about. You must remember that the Bible 
did not stand originally as we have it now, divided 
into chapters and verses. Just look at the com- 
mandments as they stand in the twentieth chapter 
of Exodus; imagine them from beginning to end 
without division, and see if you would not have 
considered the matter of our first and second com- 
mandments as fitly suited to form the subject of 
one commandment. This arrangement the Catho- 
lic Church has adopted ; and, though, of course it 
matters little how you divide them, provided you 
get the whole sum and substance of the decalogue, 
I certainly think her division is the more perfect 
of the two. But you are quite under a delusion if 
you imagine that anything has been expunged from 
this version. With the exception of this difference, 
and a trifling deviation in the translation, the Pro- 
testant and Catholic tables of commandments are 
alike.” 

“ But, believe me, Doctor Stebbing, that I have 
seen Roman catechisms in which the second com- 
mandment has been left out,” triumphantly objected 
Mr. Lisle. 

“ And I have seen Protestant catechisms in which 

« 

the commandments ran thus : 

‘Thou shalt have none other Gods but me, 

Unto no idol bow the knee. 

Take not the name of God in vain, 

Do not the Sabbath day profane/ &c. 


63 


Trials and Triumphs .. 

Now, will you tell me that that is the decalogue as 
delivered from Mount Sinai ?” 

Of course not ; but those catechisms were only 
for young children, and so only the substance of 
each commandment is given.” 

“And so were the Catholic catechisms that you 
saw for young children. And as only the com- 
mencement of each commandment is given, it 
naturally follows that in such catechisms a great 
portion of what we call the second commandment 
is left out. If, however, you should happen to 
come across the Douay catechism, and others 
authorized to be taught in Catholic schools, you 
will find the first commandment to the following 
effect : 

“ ‘ I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out 
of the land of Egypt, and out of the house of 
bondage. Thou shalt not have strange gods before 
me. Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven 
thing, nor the likeness of anything that is in the 
heaven above, or in the earth beneath, nor of those 
things which are in the waters under the earth. 
Thou shalt not adore them nor serve them : I am 
the Lord thy God, mighty, jealous, visiting the 
iniquity of fathers upon the children, unto the 
third and fourth generation of them that hate Me, 
and keep my commandments.’ Depend upon it, 
there is quite enough to reprehend in their version 
of graver doctrines, without descending to hair- 
splitting and unwortliy quibbles.” 

Much as Marion was interested in the conversa- 
tion, she felt that her mamma would be growing 


64 


Marion Harvard. 


uneasy at her absence, and hastened to bid good- 
night to the doctor and his good little wife. Mr. 
Lisle accompanied her, not sorry to take leave of 
his rector, whose opinions, for the first time, he felt 
strongly inclined to censure. 

“ Good night, Marion,” said he, holding out his 
hand at the little gate. “ Remember !” 

The child tripped into the house, and after 
supper related the conversation to her mother ; 
nor did she omit Mr. Lisle’s disapprobation of the 
proposed visit. 

“ I had better send my keys around to Mr. Lisle, 
and ask him to come and take the entire charge of 
my affairs,” exclaimed the lady, reddening with 
anger. “ You may safely go, my child, where your 
mother sends.” Marion crept into her arms and 
nestled in her motherly embrace, and, reassured 
that she was not going into the nest of dragons she 
had begun to dread, went to bed radiant with anti- 
cipation. “ But, I will keep my promise,” she 
murmured, as she sank to sleep with the little black 
book under her pillow. 




CHAPTER IV. 



^ ; HE sun shone brightly from an unclouded sky 
as Marion sprang out of bed early the next 
morning, awakened by the rural concerts of 
cows, rooks, cooks and bees, that came wafted 
th rough the open window, mingled with the per- 
fume of summer flowers and new-mown hay. Had 
it not been for the one dull thought of leaving 


mamma, it would have been a morning of unmixed 
pleasure to our little girl, as she ran backwards and 
forwards, assisting her mother in arranging and 
packing her little fairy-like wardrobe of summer 
dresses. And when it was all finished, and the 
two little trunks were corded and carried down 
stairs, how very gladly Marion would have gone 
over all again. 

“ You will, of course, write to me often, Marion,” 
said her mother. 

“Yes, mamma, very often; and you will come 
yourself and fetch me, will you not?” 

“ If I can. Mrs. Darrell will, I know, see that 
you go to the Protestant church on Sundays. By- 
the-by, I expect you will find the Sunday rather a 
strange day to you. I do not know how Catholics 
6 * 65 


66 


Marion Howard ; or, 

spend it in England, but in Paris it seems to me 
very like a week day. I quite forget how the 
St. Ledgers spent it in England ; it may be that I 
never passed one with them.” 

“ May I just go to church with them once, if 
they ask me, to see what it is like ?” 

“ Certainly, my dear; go to your own church in 
the morning, and then you may go with them 
whenever you like. I have never been into a 
Catholic chapel here, but I suppose it is much the 
same thing as in France. I have more confidence 
in you and them, than Mr. Lisle seems to have in 
any of us, and it would be very dull for you to 
stay at home by yourself. Of course, however, my 
little girl will not forget to keep the Sabbath day 
holy, whatever she may see others do.” 

“ O, no, mamma! If I see anything you would 
not like, I will read, or do something else. I will 
try and set them an example,” and Marion looked 
very demure. “ Now, I think I am ready,” she 
exclaimed, as her mother put the finishing touch to 
her little daughter’s toilette, by twisting one of 
the long bright curls around her finger; 44 let us go 
down stairs and have a nice talk until Mr. Darrell 
comes.” 

“Hark!” said Mrs. Howard, and Marion’s heart 
went pit-a-pat, as the roll of a vehicle ceased at the 
gate. 

“ Mamma, it is Mr. Darrell !” she exclaimed, as 
from the window she caught sight of a tall figure 
walking up the path. 

14 Yes, it is Mr. Darrell,” repeated the widow, 


67 


Trials and Triumphs . 

almost profoundly, “ and not much changed.” A 
shadow passed over her face, for, notwithstanding 
her pleasure in meeting him, he brought back old 
times very vividly. A minute more, and they were 
all three in the parlor. 

“ Mary is dreadfully disappointed that you are 
not coming too,” said Mr. Darrell, “and so are we 
all ; but I must say, I think you are doing right in 
going up to London at this particular juncture of 
your affairs. As for Edith and Emily, they are on 
the tiptoe of expectation, looking out for our little 
friend here. I thought of first sending Joe for her, 
with Tom to drive them, for I am literally obliged 
to make hay while the sun shines, but I thou ght 
my legal experience might be of some use to you, 
so I drove over in the dog-cart for her myself.” 

Here followed some business conversation be- 
tween the two elders, about as uninteresting to 
our readers as it was to Marion, who ran out 
to order the luncheon. 

“I wonder what a dog-cart is?” she mused, 
and stopped to take a look at the vehicle ; but 
the varnished sides and plated harness flashing 
in the sun, fully satisfied her scrutiny. “So that 
is a dog-cart ; what a funny name for such a 
handsome thing!” 

Lunch was soon dispatched, for Mr. Darrell, 
to use his own expression, “ never let the grass 
grow under his feet,” and he felt that just now 
his haymakers required a master’s eye. And so 
little Golden-hair was mounted on the dog-cart, 
where she felt very high, and rather frightened, 


68 


Marion Howard ; or , 


too, as Black Prince pranced till his harness 
jingled all over; but she swallowed some salt 
tears, that would come, and tried to smile at 
her mother, who stood kissing her hand at the 
gate. Then off they rolled as fast as Black 
Prince could carry them. For some minutes Mr. 
Darrell left her to herself, and talked to Tom 
over his shoulder about the farms and estates 
through which the turnpike led. But the little 
head beside him was soon lifted up, like a 
daisy after a shower of rain ; and, quite at home 
with her new friend, Marion forgot her tears 
in the full tide of chatter, and in less than an 
hour and a half they stopped at the lodge of 
the “ Cedars.” 

It was a charming residence, along the steep 
carriage drive of which Mr. Darrell and his 
little companion passed slowly. For some dis- 
tance, after leaving the lodge, the path lay be- 
tween broad flower beds, planted with beau- 
tiful shrubs and flowering annuals ; while, peeping 
between the trees of the shrubberies, green park- 
like meadows stretched far away on all sides. 
After a time the view widened, and the drive 
wound past a lawn, interspersed with parterres 
gay with flowers. The house, an old-fashioned 
building of red brick, was shaded by its patri- 
archal cedars, while at the back, rising to the 
very summit of the hill, towered the magnifi- 
cent wood. 

A warm, motherly embrace welcomed little 
Marion. “ My darling, I am so glad to see you,” 


Trials and Triumphs. 69 

and the child looked up confidently in the sweet 
strange eyes gazing upon her. All that Mrs. 
Howard had loved in the Irish school girl, clung 
to her still. Time had tempered her faults, ripened 
her intellect, changed her name, but in all else, 
with the same impulsive, gushing temperament, the 
mistress of the Cedars was Mary St. Ledger still. 

“Where are the girls?” asked Mrs. Darrell, look- 
ing around. 

An instant afterwards the door flew open, and a 
glad little spirit seized Marion by the hand. “ How 
late you are ? we have been watching for you ; why 
didn’t you come sooner? Naughty little thing!” 
and she threw her arms around her new friend’s 
neck, who, all unused as she was to children, 
stood almost aghast at this most lively salutation. 

“ Emily, my love, you must be more gentle ; 
you are quite frightening Marion. Remember, she 
has no brothers nor sisters, and will have to get 
used to such a wild little girl as you You are 
really not half polite enough.” 

Emily drew a little back. “Are you afraid of 
me ?” she asked, with her mother’s roguish twinkle 
in her eye. 

“ No, not at all,” replied Marion, smiling, “ I was 
only a little startled.” 

“ Come up stairs, then, and take off your things ; 
don’t you think you will be very happy here with 
us all ? We are going to make hay this after- 
noon, and Joe says you are to have his pony every 
day, as long as you are here,” she added all in a 
breath, as they passed along a broad oak passage. 


7o 


Marion Howard; or } 


at the ton of the stairs. “ What a dear little thing 

1 o 

you are !” she added; “what pretty long curls 
you have ; do you know what you put me in 
mind of when you smile ?” 

“No, — of what?” asked Marion, laughing. 

“Of sunshine! I don’t know why, but somehow 
the word sunshine comes into my head when I look 
at you. Do you think you will like me ?” 

“ I am sure I shall.” 

“ Well, I think you will, just a little, but you will 
like Edith better.” 

“Who is Edith?” 

“ Don’t you know ? Why, my twin sister; every- 
body likes her, and so they ought, she is so good, 
and not at all wild, like me. I don’t mean to be 
wild, you know, but somehow I cannot help it. 
Sometimes I feel as if I could laugh, and dance, and 
sing all day. This is to be your room, now come 
and see Edith’s and mine ; they lead into each other, 
so that we are never lonely.” 

Fit emblem of the sweet twin sisters were the 
two little chambers to which her guide conducted 
Marion, chattering all the way. Draped with pure 
white muslin, with blue carpet and paper, and clus- 
tering roses peeping in at each window, Marion 
thought she had never seen anything half so pretty. 
But that which riveted her attention was a table 
covered with white, placed in a smaller recess in 
Edith’s room, on which stood the image of a queen, 
surrounded with flowers and tapers. High above 
it was suspended a large image of Christ crucified, 
and the figure of an angel on either side. The 


Trials and Triumphs . 71 

cloth was richly trimmed with lace, and a small 
lamp burned before the statue. 

“What is that?’’ inquired Marion. 

“What?” asked her companion, glad of some 
new topic of conversation. 

Marion pointed to the table in question, 

“ This is our altar, where Edie and I say our 
prayers.” 

“ Do you ?” said Marion. 

“ Yes, come and look at it. Did you never see 
one before? See, this is an image of our Lady, 
and there is our Blessed Lord upon the cross.” 

Both children looked very grave. 

“ And what are those ?” asked Marion, pointing 
to a string of beads, suspended from a nail. 

“ That is my rosary.” 

“ What do you do with it ?” 

“ I will explain that to you another time, because 
dinner will soon be ready now. I say some of my 
prayers with it.” 

“How strange!” and Marion laid her hand on 
the little black book in her pocket. 

“ Did you never know any Catholic before ?” 

“ Never,” said Marion. 

“ O, then, I dare say you think we are funny 
people, and worship images and all that sort of 
thing ?” 

“No, I don’t; Dr. Stebbing told me last night 
that you only reverenced them.” 

“Did he? Well, all Protestants don’t think that. 
Father Stirling says that some people think we 
really pray to our crucifixes.” 


7 2 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“What a number you have!” said Marion, glanc- 
ing around. 

“ Because we like to think of Almighty God 
and all He suffered, whichever way we look. 
Don’t you ?” 

‘ I don’t know ; not always — not when I am 
merry, you know.” 

“ But we ought to like it even then, to be sure 
that we don’t get too merry, and do anything 
wrong.” 

They went back to the room where Marion had 
taken off her things. “ See, here is a crucifix at 
the head of this bed, too. If you sleep here, you 
will not mind its being there ?” 

“ I would rather not have it,” replied Marion. 
“ Our clergyman, Mr. Lisle, says it is very wrong 
to represent Christ in His humiliation, so I don’t 
much like looking at it.” 

“ I don’t understand that,” said her little friend ; 
“ but if you don’t like it, I will take it away ;” and 
getting a chair, she reached it down, and, kissing 
it reverently, laid it gently in a drawer. 

That kiss was a simple action, but it touched 
her companion. It was something human and 
tender, and yet it was showing homage to God. 
A step along the corridor made them turn, and 
Edith Darrell joined them. Her greeting was 
quiet, but affectionate, for in everything were the 
twin sisters opposite to each other. Emily was 
a blonde, bright and beautiful, pure as wax, 
with fair hair and laughing eyes, who reminded 
me, in her perpetual change and merriment, of 


73 


Trials and Triumphs. 

the dashing mountain torrent; while Edith, the 
brunette, the principal charm of whose coun- 
tenance was the pensive beauty of her large 
dark eyes, seemed like a tranquil lake, ever 
reflecting the silent heaven above. And truly, 
most truly, were the things of heaven reflected 
in that quiet spirit, shining forth perpetually in 
a hundred silent ways. Interesting at first sight, 
even by the side of the fascinating little Emily, 
Edith, when known, was the general favorite. 
Unpretending, generous, and self-denying, her 
very meekness was the charm that held all 
hearts captive with a magic chain, and gave her 
the preeminence over her equally generous, but 
high-spirited, and sometimes petulant, little sister. 

“ Where have you been ?” asked the latter, 

half reproachfully. “ Marion has been here such 
a time.” 

“ I would not have been out for the world, 

but I went to meet them. I am sorry we 

missed you,” she added, turning to Marion, and 
taking her hand, while the smile that lit every 
feature was as genuine as the little heart within. 

“ Which way did you go ?” asked her sister. 

“Towards Harleyford.” 

“ Past the church ? O, I know now ! O, 

Marion ! she is such a little saint ! Come, con- 
fess you went into church, and forgot all about 
Marion, papa, and everything else.” 

“ Emily, what a teasing child you are.” 

“It is all very fine, Miss Edie, but you know 

very well that I am right.” 

7 


74 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“Yes, I did go in, of course, just for one 
minute or two; but I cannot think how wheels 
could have passed without my hearing them, 
for everything was so still, and I was listen- 
ing all the time. ,, 

“Your guardian angel made them pass silently, 
to save you from distractions, I suppose,” said 
Emily. 

Marion looked, but said nothing. The dinner- 
bell rang, and she was soon so busily engaged 
in discussing the good things provided, that 
altars and guardian angels were forgotten. 

“ What shall we do now ?” asked the mercurial 
little Emily, when the cloth had been removed, 
and grace said with a certain sign, that made 
poor Marion feel very uncomfortable. 

“ Go into the hayfields, I think,” said Mrs. 
Darrell. “ Run and get your hats on as quickly 
as you can, for they are carting now, and an 
empty wagon is just going back to the field; 
so you can all ride in it.” 

Although Marion had lived in the country all 
her life, she had very little of the country girl 
about her; Mrs. Howard had kept her so exclu- 
sively to herself, that anything like companionship 
with young people was new to her, and especially 
those amusements in which gregarious youngsters 
find such exquisite delight, but from which the 
solitary child is naturally excluded. The ride 
to the hayfield, therefore, in the jolting, jogging 
wagon, was as delightful to her as to her com- 
panions, whose experience of life in the cotton 


Trials and Triumphs . 75 

metropolis had given them a keen relish for the 
country and its pleasures. What a picture it was 
to see them all holding on by the side of the 
wagon, as old Dobbin broke into a clumsy run, 
with his laughing, screaming freight behind him ! 
How the carter enjoyed it too, as one by one 
they slipped down to the bottom of the cart, 
rolling about like so many little landsmen in a 
gale at sea. And then the romp they had when 
they actually arrived in the hayfield, how they 
smothered brother Joe, and old Jack, the New- 
foundland dog, who had come up in the cart 
with them, and who always pushed his big good- 
humored head out just when he was least expected, 
and then, wriggling out of the hole, walked off 
with a mountain load of hay upon his broad, 
curly back. Never had Marion had such fun, 
never had the lower croft meadow echoed so 
many peals of laughter. Never were haymakers 
so helped and bothered, for the execution the 
little folks did with rakes and pitchforks was quite 
exemplary, or would have been, had they not 
tumbled the cocks over again in romping, as soon 
as they had built them. 

But even haymaking grows warm work under a 
June sun, so Joe made them a sofa of hay, “sub 
tegmine fagi,” as he phrased it, and then rode home 
on the top of the next wagon load, promising to 
see about something good in the shape of what he 
denominated bever. 

“Joe is very good-natured,” said Marion, when 
at last they had all arranged themselves, Eastern 


76 


Me avion Howard ; or , 

fashion, on their rustic divan, and were ready for a 
chat. 

“ O, he’s a dear old fellow !” exclaimed Emily, 
enthusiastically. 

“ Does he go to school ?” 

“ He has not been anywhere since we left Man- 
chester; but he is going to college in September. 
He has a holiday for the haymaking, but he 
generally studies very hard with papa. Mamma 
does not know yet what we girls are going to do, 
for Miss Horton, our governess, who has taught us 
up till now, is going to be married.” 

“ I think we shall go to the convent Father 
Stirling was telling mamma about, after the holi- 
days,” said Edith. 

“To the convent! What for?” asked Marion. 

“To learn.” 

“ Why, do they teach in convents ?” 

“Yes, in some,” said Edith. “What did you 
think they did ?” 

“ Do tell us, Marion, what you think nuns are 
like?” exclaimed Emily, sitting suddenly upri ght, 
and looking very mischievous. 

“ Really, I don’t know,” replied Marion. “ I 
never saw one in my life. They are all dressed in 
black, are they not?” 

“ Some are ; well, what do you think they do all 
day ?” 

“ I don’t know exactly, but I have heard that 
they are always praying, and that they never go 
out of doors.” 

“Would you not like them if they always did 


77 


Trials and Triumphs . 

that ?” asked Edith ; “ it would not be wrong, 
would it?” 

“ Yes, I think it would be idle to spend our life so.” 
“ What ! to be always serving God ?” asked 
Emily, quickly. 

“ Well, Marion, dear,” said Edith, gently, “ nuns 
do many things besides that. There are many 
Orders. One kind visits the poor, and teaches in the 
poor schools, and some attend the sick. One Order 
takes old men and women into their house, does 
everything for them to make them comfortable and 
happy ; and to enable them to do this, even begs for 
them. Some nuns, as you fancy, spend their time 
in prayer, and others, like the Sisters that Emily 
and I are perhaps going to, have schools for young 
ladies. Then, their dresses are different ; sometimes 
the habit is black, sometimes white, or brown, or 
even blue. Indeed, there are so many different 
kinds of nuns, that even if I knew them, it would 
take hours to tell you all about them.” 

“ Nor are they always shut up,” observed Emily; 
“some nuns are obliged to go out a great deal, 
and those who do not, have generally beautiful 
large gardens to walk in.” 

“ But they must be very unhappy,” replied 
Marion. “ If I were them, I would run off when I 
found myself all alone, some day, in the street !” 
Emily shouted with laughter, and Edith smiled. 
“ Why, Marion,” said the latter, quietly, “ if 
they did not wish to stop, they need not run away.” 
“ I thought they were shut in, with great locks 
and keys.” 


7 * 


73 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“ When your mamma has the street-door locked 
at night, is it to prevent you from getting out?” 
‘The very idea, Edith! just as if I should want 
to get out into the dark cold night. Of course not; 
it is to prevent robbers from getting in.” 

“Which is just the reason why nuns lock their 
doors,” returned Edith. 

“ Yes, Marion,” added the other sister; “what the 
cold dark night would be to you out of your warm 
snug house, such the world would be to the nun 
who has given up everything for God. To under- 
stand what a nun’s life reallv is, one must be a 
Catholic ; but any Protestant, who loves our Lord, 
can see, I should think, that a woman who does 
every little thing to please Him, must be happy.” 
“ Yes, I can fancy that,” replied Marion, after a 
few moments’ silence ; “ but she must long some- 
times to be home with her father and mother, and 
those she loves, for all that.” 

“What, love them better than God !” cried Emily. 
“O ! Emily darling, Marion is right,” said Edith; 
“it must be very hard to give up one’s home, even 
for God.” 

“ Edie !” exclaimed her sister, reproachfully. 
“Well, Emily, I really think so; you know how 
much I love the nuns, and I know that convent 
girls are always happy ; but I could not leave papa 
and mamma for ever.” 

“Could you, Emily?” asked Marion. 

“ Who, I ?” exclaimed Emily, opening her eyes. 

“ T won’t be a nun, I won’t be a nun, 

Pm so very fond of pleasure that I can’t be a nun.’ 


79 


Trials and Triumphs. 

u But, I tell you what, Marion, we have some one 
coming here in a day or two, who will tell you a 
great deal more about nuns and convents than we 
can ; and that is Miss Horton, the young lady I 
told you of just now, who used to be our gover- 
ness. I am sure you will like her, she was a Pro- 
testant once.” 

“ How dreadful !*’ thought Marion, putting her 
hand in her pocket, but the little black book was 
safe. 

“Well, girls, are you asleep?” cried Joe, making 
his appearance. “ Come along, all of you ; tea is 
being carried around to the dell, and we are going 
to boil the kettle, gipsy fashion, in the wood, and all 
sorts of fun. Come.” 

No second invitation was needed, and a very few 
minutes saw them all in the dell, awaiting the com- 
ing viands. 

“ Bravo !” cried Joe, seizing upon the first impor- 
tation, which chanced to be the tea-kettle; “ all right, 
Tom ; there’s a good fellow. You need not stop, we 
are going to manage for ourselves.” 

Tom disappeared, grinning from ear to ear, while 
Joe proceeded to build his fire and erect his tripod 
for the kettle. 

“Jolly work this, isn’t it, only rather warm?” he 
exclaimed, blowing vigorously at the flame- he had 
kindled. “ I think that will do now,” he added, 
rising from his knees, and looking complacently at 
the result of his labors, as the sticks began to 
crackle and the kettle to sing. “ I shall leave you 
girls to do the rest, for I must go wood-gathering.” 


8o 


Clarion Howard ; or , 


“ Here is the tea,” cried Emily, diving into the 
basket Tom had placed on the ground. 

“And a pot of jam,” said Edith, in her turn. 

“What a little loaf! I am sure that it will not 
be large enough. Call Tom back.” 

“ He has gone too far — never mind, we must 
make it do.” 

“ There’s the milk in a bottle, and the butter in a 
cabbage leaf.” 

Tip! Hiss! — there lay Joe’s kettle on its side, 
singing, like the dying swan, a parting lay. 

“What shall we do?” 

“Build it up again, don’t let us call Joe,” cried 
Emily; “we can do it just as well ourselves.” 

And so Emily made another fire in a dry place, 
while Marion and Edith set off to fill the kettle. 
But, even when that was once more singing, their 
misfortunes were not over, for Emily cut her 
finger as well as the bread and butter, and no 
sooner was that bandaged up in a pocket-handker- 
chief, than the tea was discovered to be missing. 
And a rare hunt they had for it, until it was found 
under a dock leaf, when all being ready, Joe was 
summoned, somewhat astonished to find his fire 
transplanted during his absence, and never did 
green-wood echo to merrier voices. 

The first cup was just poured out, and Joe had 
been persuaded to promise them a wonderful tale, 
when a low growl from Jack arrested their atten- 
tion. Edith set down the tea-pot while Joe jumped 
to his feet. 


“ What can it be ?” 


asked Emily. 


Trials and Triumphs . 81 

“Hush!” said her brother; “ it is some one 
going across there. I wonder who it is ; no one 
has any right to come into this wood. Hush!” 
They listened, and this time a voice was heard, 
while the bushes crackled as the path was forced 
through them. 

“ Mammy, mammy, do carry me !” 

“ Whist ! whist ! — mamma can’t carry you and 
baby too; come, Johnny, walk like a man.” 

“ O, I can’t ! I can’t !” And the weary child 
sank on the ground, just as the poor mother came 
in sight of the little tea-party. 

Joe stepped forward. “ Do you know you are 
trespassing ?” he asked gently, but firmly; “ this is 
private property.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir, but I have lost my way; 
if you will let my little boy rest a minute, I will go 
any way you will show me to get to Harleyford.” 

“ But this child is too tired to walk so far as that 
this evening, it is almost two miles from here,” said 
Edith. 

“ He will have to do it some way, my dear, 
though if I could get him on my back, I think, 
perhaps, I could carry him. Ah, children, children, 
may God in his mercy keep the dark day of 
trouble far away from your young hearts ! Now, 
Johnny, my man, try and get on mammy’s back.” 
But the child’s eyes were fixed wolfishly on the 
food, and he did not stir. 

“ Come, dear.” She strove to lift him, but she was 
too much exhausted ; nature gave way, and she 
sank on her knees. 


82 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“ I cannot go on yet,” she exclaimed; “I am 
too tired and weak ; let me stop only ten minutes.” 

“ Ten minutes !” cried the boy ; “ do you think I 
would send you on, as tired as you are ? No, stop 
as long as you like.” 

“Joe,” whispered Emily, “they are starving; 
look at the child.” 

“ Are you hungry ?” he asked, bluntly. 

“ My children have had one piece of bread, I, 
nothing all day,” replied the woman, with a gloomy 
smile. 

An exclamation burst from all the children, 
followed by a whispered consultation between 
Edith and Emily. 

“ Marion, what shall we do? Would you mind 
giving our tea to them ?” 

“I do wish you would,” replied Marion, delighted 
at the idea; “it is so dreadful to see them like 
that.” 

In two minutes a wonderful transformation scene 
had taken place. Edith was once again at the 
head of her rustic table, with the poor woman at 
her side. Emily had seized upon the baby, whom 
she was regaling with an unprecedented amount of 
sopped bread, while Marion and Johnny, already 
capital friends, were as busy as hunger and com- 
passion could make them. As for poor Joe, his 
long legs, just before so fatigued, were now rapidly 
flying homeward for a fresh stock of provisions. 

“ You would never have reached Harleyford 
without food or rest,” remarked Edith, compas- 
sionately, 


Trials and Triumphs. 


33 


"Ah, my dear young lady! I only asked the 
way to Harley ford because it lay on my road, but 
my journey will not stop short this side of Enning- 
ton. I thought, however, that we might get a lift 
in a wagon or cart going there, if we once got 
to Harleyford.” 

“ But you don’t live at Ennington, do you ?” 
asked Marion. 

“ I did live there once, but I have not seen the 
dear old place for many years ; now, whether my 
poor old mother is living, I do not know, and 
I dread getting to the town to ask, for an awful 
feeling comes over me sometimes that she is 
dead.” 

“What is her name?” asked Marion. “I live 
at Ennington, and I know almost everybody 
there.” 

The woman paused ; her very life seemed to 
hang on Marion’s answer. “Mary Turner,” she 
faltered. 

“Mary Turner! why, that is the name of our 
old servant, who has lived with us so many years !” 

The woman looked as though in a half dream. 
“My mother lived with a Mrs. Howard,” said 
she, at length. 

“ This is Miss Howard !” cried Emily, clapping 
her hands. “Now, are you not happy? you see 
your mother is living.” 

“ Thank God ! thank God !” ejaculated the poor 
woman, covering her face with her hands. 

“ And quite well and happy,” added Marion ; 
“poor dear nursey, how delighted she will be!” 


84 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“Does she ever speak of me?” asked the woman, 
glancing up. 

“Very seldom; but she told me once that she 
thought of you, and prayed for you always.” 

“ But why have you not written to her ?” asked 
Emily; “you might have done that.” 

“ First from pride, then from shame. Ah, child, 
child, but mine is a sad story. I was just fourteen 
years old when I left my poor dear mother, not 
long after my father died, to go to service in Lon- 
don. I had very good places, for I was quick with 
my needle, and I got on from one thing to another, 
till at the end of six or seven years I went as lady’s 
maid. I travelled about with my mistress in foreign 
parts, and saw a good deal of the world, for two or 
three years ; and I grew fond of pleasure and fine 
clothes. Up to this time I wrote regularly to my 
mother, and used to send her presents, and I had 
begun to save up some money to go back and live 
with her. I meant to take the little cottage again 
that I was born in, to get my living by dress-mak- 
ing, and to have her live with me, and make 
her happy in her old age. But then the love 
of foolish nonsense came over me, and I grew 
changed ; and just about this time my lord took a 
valet, and though my mistress warned me against 
him again and again, for she never liked him, I 
would talk and laugh with him, and more than once 
went to the theatre with him. He was a French- 
man, and not, as my lady said, in any way suited 
to a young girl religiously brought up, for he was 
an Atheist, and feared neither God nor the devil. 


Trials and Triumphs . 85 

But I did not care, although I knew what a bad 
companion he was for me ; but I did not know all 
that I learned afterwards. At last my mistress told 
me she had written for my mother to come up, for 
that she was certain if I was left to myself I should 
go all wrong. I told Adolphe, and he went into a 
dreadful passion, and persuaded me to go away 
with him. We were married, and I went to Liver- 
pool with him, where I lived ever since ; but from 
that time to this I have never heard one word of 
my poor mother.” 

“And where is your husband?” asked Edith. 

“ Dead, Miss. I need not tell you now all I have 
gone through, for my married life was as wretched 
as it deserved to be; but whatever my poor dead 
husband’s sins may have been, I believe he died 
repentant. He had to be buried by the parish, and 
my baby was born in the work-house about a 
month after his death. As soon as I was strong 
enough, I came out again, and tried to get a little 
home for my children, but it was of no use. At 
last, one way and another, I got ten shillings 
together and set off to come here. It has been 
hard work, I can tell you, ladies. We came 
partly by railroad, and sometimes we managed to 
get a lift for a few miles in a cart; but the great part 
of the way we have come on foot, sleeping in 
barns, or on fine nights under hedges. I spent 
my last penny this morning, and — you know the 
rest.” 

“ Well, you will be able to get to Ennington 

now; we will see about a cart to take you there.” 
8 


86 


Marion Howard ; or 9 

“Thank you kindly, most kindly, young ladies; 
but only think, after all, when I get there, what a 
disgrace I shall be to my poor mother.” 

Marion was silent, for she knew very well that 
this would be just such a disgrace as Mrs. How- 
ard would not relish. 

“ I wish something could be done to make 
you more comfortable before going home to 
your mother,” said Edith. “ We must see.” 

At this moment Joe arrived with fresh pro- 
visions. A plate of cold beef and a glass of 
strong ale brought real life once more into the 
poor woman, and half an hour afterwards she 
arose to depart. 

“ Why, you don’t suppose you’re going off 
to Ennington, or even to Harleyford, to-night, 
do you ? Come, youngster, get on my back,” 
cried the undignified Joe, in whose bright black 
eye something very unwonted was twinkling. 
“ You are not going farther than the Cedars 
this evening, I can tell you. They are making 
up a beci already in one of the men’s rooms, 
which just happens to be empty. Bring the 
baby, Em, and set Jack to watch these things 
till we send for them. Now then, hurrah ! off 
we go !” 

And with the dusty, but pretty child clinging 
to his back, Joe Darrell started across the fields, 
followed by the girls and the poor woman, the 
former all wanting the baby at once, and carry- 
ing it by turns. 

” Good-night, Marion dear,” said Edith, as she 


87 


Trials and Triumphs. 

kissed her at her bed-room door. “ Does it 
not make you happy to think that the poor 
woman is comfortable for at least one night ? 
Betsy says she is so grateful, and looks so 
happy. I do not know how she has managed, but 
she has found them all clean clothes. Good- 
night !” 

‘‘Poor, dear old nursey !” cried Marion, the 
tears glistening in her eyes ; “ how thankful she 
will be! Edith, darling, your mamma is very 
good.” 




CHAPTER V. 
r 

“ Q\ ND what are you going to do with your 
Ml protegees ?” asked Mr. Darrell of his little 
^4 X Emily, as for the twentieth time she re- 
counted the adventures of the preceding 
evening. 

“We want you to help us to decide that/' 
said his wife. “ I certainly cannot see what 
good she will do by going to Ennington. It 
is very certain Mrs. Howard will have no place 
for them, and what can an old woman like 
poor Turner do towards the maintenance of a 
woman and two children ?” 

“ Eliza must work for herself/’ said Mr. Dar- 
rell. 

“ Which she tells me she is only too ready 
to do, in any way, and at anything,” observed 
his wife. 

“ Papa,” said Edith, “ I have a little idea in 
my head, but you must not be vexed if you 
do not like it. It is only a sudden thought, 
you know.” 

“ Go on, dear child, what is it ?” 

“Well, papa, you know Jarvis at the lodge 
is going. Could you not put Eliza ii: instead ? 

88 


8 9 


Trials and Triumphs . 



I think, from her being up between four and 
five, to alter the old clothes that Betsy gave 
her, and from the nice natty way in which she 
has dressed the children, that she is naturally 
quick and neat. Even yesterday they were rather 
dusty than dirty.” 

“ And to-day they look lovely — like two little 
angels !” broke in the impetuous Emily. 

“ Not at all a bad idea, Edith, for providing 
a shelter; but what could she live on? We 
could not let her take in washing at the lodge, 
and if she went out charring, she could not 
open the gate.” 

“ But, papa dear, she could take needle-work, 
which is her real business. Mamma herself could 
give her a great deal to do, and if she is clever, 
she would be a real boon to the neighborhood, 
where mamma says, though there are plenty of 
dress-spoilers, there is not one dress-maker.” 

“ What think you, Mary ?” he asked, turning to 
his wife. 

‘‘That Edith has an old head on young shoul- 
ders. If Eliza is clean, neat, and handy, she 
would be certainly the right woman in the right 
place.” 

Nothing could exceed the gratitude of the poor 
creature when the plan was proposed. Jarvis was 
willing to retire at once. Mrs. Darrell found a few 
articles of plain furniture, besides those already in 
the lodge, and within twenty-four hours from her 
arrival in the dell, Eliza Turner found herself and 

her little ones sheltered in a sweet little home 

8 * 


90 


Marion Howard ; or ; 

embowered in roses and summer flowers, under 
the kind and gentle guidance of the mistress of 
the Cedars. 

Merrily rolled the week along, with the cricket 
match, boating, strawberry feasts, and haymaking 
in the higher croft, and last, not least, the runs 
backward and forward to Eliza, and the romps 
with her children, the baby especially being a 
most untiring plaything. Besides this, there were 
visits to be paid and received, for Harleyford 
was a sociable, old-fashioned town, and already 
Emily and Edith had made many nice friends. 
Many amongst these were, of course, Protestants, 
but this difference of creed made none in the spirit 
of kindliness that pervaded the little parties that 
met from time to time in the hayfields, cricket 
ground, and each other’s houses. Marion liked 
them all, although, as Emily had prognosticated, 
she did learn to love Edie with a deeper love 
than the rest ; and when sometimes Mr. Lisle’s 
words rose before her mind, warning her even 
against the children, it was with a feeling almost 
akin to indignation that she thought of them. 

“Who could look at Edie and doubt her?” she 
whispered one evening, almost passionately, as hav- 
ing read a chapter in her little book, she was about 
to get into bed. “ I wish I slept with her, for I feel 
lonely to-night; but I did not like the idea at first, 
because of what Mr. Lisle said. It is very strange 
that he should hate this religion so. I hardly 
remember what he said distinctly, but he looked 
awful when he spoke. I know he said that they 


Trials and Triumphs 


9i 


loved the Virgin Mary more than Christ, but they 
have more images of him than of her. Well, I do 
love a crucifix, notwithstanding what I said to 
Emily. I wonder which drawer she put it in ; I 
should love to have a look at it all by myself. It 
cannot be wrong to look into the drawers, because 
Mrs. Darrell said I might use as many of them as 
I liked.” Obeying a strong impulse, Marion took 
out the crucifix, and gazed at it long and stead- 
fastly. And the dark scene of that crucifixion 
passed before her mind, with the scourge, the 
thorns, the nails, the bitter gall, and still more 
bitter insult. The words so gently spoken from 
the depths of that Sacred Heart fell in imagination 
on her ear, “ Father, forgive them, for they know 
not what they do ;” and while more than one tear 
fell on the image in her hand, the little Protestant 
trembled with emotion. “ I do love a crucifix, in 
spite of all Mr. Lisle says,” she exclaimed, suddenly. 
“ I could love it as I do Edward’s picture, and 
more, much more. Edward is very dear, but what 
is even he, to Jesus Crucified !” And in her turn kiss- 
ing the little crucifix, she laid it once more in the 
drawer. “ I will ask the girls to let me sleep with 
one of them to-morrow. I know they will. I am 
half inclined to run in to-night,” she added, glancing 
at the large bed with its heavy cornices and crim- 
son hangings; “it is so very lonely here, and the 
rain makes such a noise.” A sudden gust of wind 
against the casement decided her movements, and, 
opening her door, she ran quickly along the oak 
passage that separated them from her ; but her light 


92 


M avion Howard ; or ; 


becoming extinguished by a sudden draught, so 
increased her nervousness, that she ran into their 
room as white as a sheet. 

The twins were kneeling side by side before their 
little altar, now bright with lights. Marion, fearful 
of disturbing them, was about to withdraw', not- 
withstanding her fright, but Emily, who had turned 
at her sudden entrance, rose at once from her 
knees and prevented her. 

“ Get into Edith’s bed, dear,” she whispered, 
“we shall soon have finished. You are timid, and 
have come to sleep with us, have you not ?” 
“Yes,” said Marion, “if I may.” 

Emily returned to her place, and Marion tried 
to catch the words, but in vain. “Ora pro nobis ” 
she did not understand, and remembering some- 
thing about an “ unknown tongue,” she put her 
head under the clothes, regretting that her black 
book had been left behind in her flight. When all 
was finished by something, though she could not 
hear what, in honest Queen’s English, our little 
girl felt decidedly relieved, and inclined for a 
chat. But the answers she received were so laconic, 
especially from Emily, who was as mute as a mouse, 
that, fearing she had annoyed them by her intru- 
sion, she sprang up in the bed. 

“ I know you do not like me to be here ; it 
was very rude of me to come, especially to run in 
without knocking ; but I was getting so silly and 
timid. I am all right now, and would rather go 
back again.” 

“ No, darling,” replied Edith, gently detaining 


93 


Trials and Triumphs . 

her ; “ I am well pleased to have you sleep with me, 
but Catholics never talk after their night prayers, 
if they can help it.” 

Marion was so tired that the sun was shinincr 
brightly on the still dripping leaves when she 
awoke. To her surprise, her companion was no 
longer by her side; and on rising and peeping into 
Emily’s room, she found the other little couch 
vacant also. 

“Ah, dear, how late I shall be for breakfast! 
Why did they not call me!” and she began dress- 
ing in good earnest, expecting the bell to ring 
every moment. But no bell rang, and when she 
was partly dressed a peep at the staircase clock 
told her it was only half-past seven. “ They must 
have gone out for a walk,” was the conclusion she 
arrived at. “ I . suppose they thou ght I was tired.” 

Her toilette being ended, Marion said her prayers, 
and, having brought her little book, sat down to 
read. But her ideas were wayward, and it was in 
vain she tried to fix them, so, half closing her 
book, she sat and thought. She looked at the 
little altar, with its sweet flowers, burnished candle- 
sticks, and stately image, around which a curtain 
of white lace fell in graceful folds from a wreath of 
blue flowers above. 

“It is very pretty; I wonder what Mr. Lisle 
would say to it? I think it is very nice to have a 
little corner in one’s room given to God, and if He 
does not like things to be beautiful, why did He 
have the old Tabernacle and Solomon’s Temple so 
grand? I know, of course, religion was altered 


94 


Marion Howard; or, 


after Christ came, but God Himself remained the 
same. He never changes, and if He liked things 
as splendid as everything belonging to the old 
Temple was, it seems strange that He should not 
like this splendor now. If I could make a reli- 
gion of my own, and if I were rich, I would still 
be a Protestant, but have things as beautiful as 
I could. God likes flowers surely, because He 
himself makes them; so I would put them in my 
church, and lights too, in imitation of the candle- 
sticks in the Jewish sanctuary. I would have 
pictures of the life of Christ hung up in different 
places, and a crucifix where every one could see it; 
then people must think of Him. I suppose Mr. 
Lisle would say that all this is wrong, but I can’t 
help it. I must keep these thoughts a great secret 
from everybody, I suppose, though I am sure, if I 
ask Him, God will take them away if they are not 
right. It says nowhere in the New Testament that 
churches must not be beautiful, but in many places 
in the Old, that they must. I have thought of this 
before, but never very much. Why, I do think,” 
she added, springing suddenly from her seat, “ from 
what Mr. Lisle said a little time ago, that I must be 
a Puseyite !” The blood flew to her face and neck 
with the excitement of the thought, and she started 
as she caught sight of herself in the glass. “ When 
I am older, I will see what Puseyites really believe; 
and if I find them what I fancy they are, I will be 
one, for I am not satisfied with mv religion. God 
seems too grand to be thought of as little as Mr. 
Lisle and old nursey seem to think of Him !” 


95 


Trials and Triumphs. 



Her ruminations were here interrupted by Emily, 
who danced into the room, whirling her hat by the 
string. 

“ What, up and dressed already !” she exclaimed. 

“ O, Emily, I should so have loved to have gone 
out with you; why did you not call me?” 

Emily laughed. “We have been to church.” 

“To church! What, so early, and on Satur- 
day ?” 

“To be sure! We go every morning. Mamma, 
Edith, Joe, and I, and sometimes papa.” 

“Always before breakfast?” 

“Yes, in the summer, because we have Mass at 
seven ; in the winter it is at nine.” 

“ What is Mass ?” 

Simple question, asked by the little Protestant in 
childish curiosity. Could Michael, as he bows his 
radiant head before the eternal throne, give the 
reply ? Could Mary herself, crowned in the 
highest heaven, Queen of created intelligence, 
Daughter, Mother, Spouse of the Triune God, tell 
in human words what is the mysteries of the altar? 
For a moment the question overpowered the child 
of thirteen. What could she say? How make 
her companion understand ? 

“ The principal service of our religion,” was the 
answer at last. 

“ How strange, to go to church every day ! we 
only go on Sundays.” 

Edith, ifow entering, the conversation took a 
turn, and, at the sound of the bell, they all ran 
down stairs to breakfast. 


96 


Mi avion Howard ; or , 


It was Sunday, and with a very mixed feeling 
Marlon lay awake next morning in Edith’s bed, 
watching the flies chase each other round and 
round the circle, settling every now and then 
on the knots of the curtain fringe. Her two 
companions had gone out as usual, and she lay 
questioning much what this day, certainly not a 
little dreaded, was to bring forth. “ I wonder what 
they will do ; perhaps they will be like mamma 
says the Catholics are in Paris, and go on with 
everything just the same as usual. It would seem 
very dreadful to see Mr. Darrell busy with his farm 
bailiff as he was yesterday, or to see Mrs. Darrell 
and the girls sit .down to needle-work. If they do 
not keep Sunday properly, but work on it like 
any other day, I shall know they are wrong, 
because any child can see it is wicked to break 
God’s commandments. Really, really, I do not 
know what to think ! What Mr. Lisle says makes 
me so uneasy all the time, and yet they all seem so 
very good. Perhaps I shall see to-day, better than 
I have done yet, what their religion really is. I 
like Miss Horton very much. Whatever could 
make her turn Catholic ? I suppose she has gone 
to church too.” 

Yes, Miss Horton was at church, with her head 
bowed low after her communion, praying fervently 
at this very moment, among other intentions, for 
the little Protestant, whose winning manners and 
sunny curls had wonderfully attracted her the 
night before. 

Marion met the little party at the lodge where 


97 


Trials and Triumphs. 

Eliza, looking quite smart in a new print dress, was 
just setting her children down to their bread and 
milk. She looked the picture of grateful happi- 
ness, and her room, as Emily phrased it, “ like 
a little palace.” Mrs. Darrell stepped in to kiss 
the children, while her husband slyly slipped a 
shilling into each little chubby hand. 

The breakfast-table at the Cedars was a very 
happy one. There was something so joyous, yet 
subdued, in the cheerfulness of the three elders, 
and they naturally gave the tone to the rest of the 
family. For the first time since Marion’s arrival 
the conversation was thoroughly Catholic. Miss 
Horton having resigned her engagement in the 
family upon their leaving Manchester, this was her 
first visit to Harleyford, and she asked many ques- 
tions as to the position of Catholics in this part of 
the country. Marion was astonished to find, from 
Mr. Darrell’s replies, that the Catholic church was 
a regularly organized establishment; she had al- 
ways imagined that it consisted of a few people 
with very strange ideas, scattered here and there, 
without order or arrangement ; and she was aston- 
ished to hear Mr. Darrell speak of its archbishops 
and bishops, its dioceses and parishes, its colleges 
and schools. But wider still the blue eyes opened, 
as he talked of distant missions, and of the number 
of converts each week swelling the ranks of the 
Catholic Church even in England. The wisest 
heads in Ennington knew but little of the great 
world beyond, save, perhaps, the broadest politics 

of the day, and it is not to be wondered at that little 

9 


9 8 


Marion How at d ; or , 

Marion listened with astonishment to Mr. Darrells 
description of the machinery of a church, upon 
whose very existence, until the week before, she 
had hardly ever bestowed a thought. 

“Betsy will take you to church this morning, 
my love/’ said Mrs. Darrell. 

“Thank you. Would you mind my going this 
afternoon with Edith and Emily?” 

“ I am afraid your mamma would not like it, 
dear child.” 

“Yes, she said I might go, if you would let me, 
that is, if I went to the Protestant church in the 
morning.” 

“ Then I am sure you shall go ; the girls will, I 
know, be much pleased to have you with them, and 
so will Miss Pf orton, and you must tell Father 
Stirling that we are expecting him to spend the 
evening with us.” 

It was with a beating heart that Marion entered 
the little Catholic chapel of Harleyford.- It was a 
small building, and to an eye accustomed to nobler 
edifices, decidedly simple; but it was clean, well 
kept, and well arranged. An altar of white stone 
occupied the centre, with smaller ones on either 
side, dedicated to the Virgin Mother and St. Joseph. 
As it was a feast-day, the church was more than 
usually decorated, and bright flowers adorned every 
altar and image, while the solemn light of the red 
lamp was reflected in a ruddy glow from the gilded 
door of the tabernacle. Altogether, the scene was 
very striking to our little girl, who gazed around 
her from her seat beside Miss Horton, in silent 


99 


Trials and Triumphs . 

wonder. The service commenced by the rosary, 
which, to Marion’s ear, accustomed only to Dr. 
Stebbing’s sonorous mouthing in the Church 
prayers, or to Mr. Lisle’s emphatic enunciation of 
the same, was quite unintelligible. Then followed 
a sermon from Father Stirling, on the command- 
ments, and lastly came Benediction. If the chapel 
was pretty before in little Marion’s eyes, it certainly 
was something far more brilliant now, as row after 
row of tapers glimmered on the altar. When 
Father Stirling appeared in his rich vestment, and 
the white robed acolytes, swinging the fuming 
censer, and bearing the lighted torches, passed on 
before, Marion wandered back, in imagination, to 
the days of Solomon, and fancied herself actually 
in the temple of the Jewish monarch. What had 
been her thoughts, child as she was, could she have 
read the Mystery of Mysteries — could she have 
pierced like the hearts around her, the humble 
veils, and recognized by the eye of faith, the 
Dweller on the altar? No, little Golden-hair, your 
eye may be charmed by Catholic ceremonies, your 
ear entranced, as the music of the grand old master 
peals forth in the “ 0 Salutaris ,” your imagination 
may be led captive by flowers, lights and incense, 
but God will not yet. reveal to you the secret of the 
Tabernacle. 

More to the children’s surprise, than to Miss 
Horton’s, who already began to understand, Marion 
asked no questions concerning Benediction. It had 
been such a complete realization of her religious 
dreams, that almost unknown to herself, she laid it 


IOO 


Marion Howard ; or 9 

by among the secrets of her heart, to be “ read, 
marked, learned, and inwardly digested” in years 
to come. Not so the rosary; here she was all 
curiosity. 

“ What did the priest, and all of you, keep on 
saying when we first went in ?” 

“Our Fathers, Hail Maries, and Glorias; couldn’t 
you hear?” asked Emily, laughing. 

“ No, I should think not, you rattled on so fast- 
What are Hail Maries and Glorias ?” 

“ The Gloria you know well enough, my dear, 
because you say it in your church at the end of 
every psalm,” replied Miss Horton; “the Hail 
Mary is a prayer to our Blessed Lady,” and she 
repeated it. 

“May I see your rosary?” 

“Certainly; here it is.” 

“ What a strange-looking thing ! It is very hand- 
some, though. Is this silver?” 

“Yes; but I prize it most of all because the 
priest who received me into the Church gave it to 
me.” 

“ Then you say first the Lord’s Prayer, and then, 
let me see, ten Hail Maries, and then Glory be to 
the Father, and then begin the same over again, 
till you come to where you started from ?” 

“ Exactly so,” said Miss Horton, stepping behind 
with Edith, while Emily and Marion passed on 
before. 

“What do you think of her, Miss Horton?’* 
asked her companion ; “ is she not a dear little 
thing ?” 


ior 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ One of the sweetest girls I ever met, and one, 
I should imagine, who thinks deeply and silently. 
We must pray as hard as we can for her.” 

“ Miss Horton !” cried Emily, turning suddenly 
around ; “ Marion says she thinks our Lord meant 
just things as the rosary, when He says, ‘Use not 
vain repetitions.’ ” 

“You must not be offended, really, Miss Hor- 
ton !” exclaimed Marion, blushing ; “ I do not want 
to say rude things about the Catholic religion, but 
I want to understand it.” 

“ Do not for one moment imagine, my dear 
child,” replied Miss Horton, “that anything you 
can possibly say will be deemed rude by any of us ; 
we all understand you too well for that.” 

Marion smiled. 

“Moreover,” continued the elder lady, “your 
objection is very natural, and generally, I suppose, 
the first thought excited in the mind of a Protesant 
by the rosary, the principal part of which is, how- 
ever, the contemplation of the mysteries. Did you 
explain these, Emily ?” 

“ No ; I left that for you.” 

“ Then, Marion, you are only half enlightened ; 
and you know, proverbially, ‘ a little knowledge is 
a dangerous thing.’ The rosary consists of fifteen 
mysteries; of these, five are joyful, five sorrowful, 
five glorious. First among the joyful mysteries is 
the Annunciation, when the angel came to the 
Blessed Mary in her little silent room, and told her 
that she was to be the Mother of God. Now, we 
think of this while we say the first, our Father, the 


102 


Marion Howard ; or , 

ten Hail Maries and the Gloria, which altogether we 
call a decade, and then pass on to the next, which 
is that of the Visitation. Here we see Mary, not- 
withstanding her dignity, visiting the mother of 
Christ’s forerunner, as the simple Jewish maiden. 
Then, in the next decade, we meditate on the Birth 
of our Lord in the stable, when man refused Him 
a shelter, and He found it among the beasts of the 
field. Next, comes the Presentation in the Temple, 
where Simeon, the old prophet, and that pattern of 
Anchorites, the aged Anna, who made her home 
in the Temple day and night, passing eighty years in 
prayer and fasting, took the Divine Infant in her 
arms. The last decade is the Finding of Jesus in 
the Temple by His Mother and St. Joseph, after he 
had been lost for three days. Now do you imagine 
you would find it hard or strange to meditate on 
these beautiful things of God ?” 

“O no, Miss Horton! I should like to do that 
by itself very much ; but I cannot see how people 
can say other prayers at the same time.” 

“ I can well fancy it seems strange to you at first 
sight, my dear child ; but I think I can illustrate it 
to you. Do you never perform actions whilst 
your mind is imbued with the spirit of something 
to which these actions tend, but of which they form 
no immediate part ? For instance, in a visit of 
condolence to a bereaved friend, the departed one 
is perhaps barely mentioned, and yet the loss sus- 
tained is never absent for an instant from the mind 
of either the mourner or the comforter, and every 
word uttered, though perhaps only commonplace, 


103 


Trials and Triumphs. 

is tempered more or less with the spirit of grief. 
Again, on Christmas day, with its scenes of joyous 
merriment and family union, how, amid all, does 
the spirit of the first Christmas insensibly pervade 
each thought, word, and action, of a Christian. 
Good-by, slips lightly off the tongue that looks for 
re-union to-morrow, and how it is spoken on 
the eve of a life-long separation ? Then, Marion, 
dearest, can you not understand a little of the spirit 
of the rosary ? Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray 
for us! says the sinner, as he meditates on Jesus 
prostrate in the garden. Pray for us ! he cries 
again, as the Blood shed for the guilt of the whole 
world, and for him in particular, falls upon the 
ground of Gethsemane. Pray for us! again and 
again he exclaims, as the alternate view of God’s 
humiliation, and man’s wretchedness, bursts upon 
him, till lost in the wonders of redeeming love, he 
cries, Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and 
to the Holy Ghost! Again, he contemplates, amid 
the glorious mysteries, the Coronation of our Lady. 
Jesus has entered the Holy of Holies, and there, in 
faith, he sees the Virgin Mother, too. Holy Mary, 
Mother of God, pray for us ! he exclaims, lost in 
the contemplation of her dignity. Crowned Queen 
of Heaven ! Then pray for us, and again and 
again through all the decades, he invokes her 
blessed name, and thinks of the infinite love of 
Gbd, and the power and gentleness of her, to whom 
God refuses nothing.” 

“I understand,” said Marion, thoughtfully ; “I 
quite see what you mean.” 


io4 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“The rosary is more like a string of meditations 
than a prayer, is it not, Miss Horton?” asked 
Emily. 

“It is both, my dear; hence its great beauty and 
efficacy.” 

“You have only told me the joyful mysteries 
yet,” said Marion; “what are the others?” 

“ The sorrowful are, the Agony in the garden, the 
Scourging of Jesus, the Crowning with thorns, the 
Carrying of the cross, and the Crucifixion.” 

“ Those are beautiful,” replied Marion ; “ any one 
could meditate on those, even a Protestant.” 

“ So they could on all, except, perhaps, the two 
last glorious ones, which are certainly essentially 
Catholic.” 

“Tell me those.” 

“The Resurrection, the Ascension, the Descent 
of the Holy Ghost, the Assumption, and the Coro- 
nation, are the glorious mysteries. The two last 
refer to our Blessed Lady. You know, we believe, 
that after her death, she was carried, body and 
soul, up to heaven, where Jesus crowned her Queen 
of archangels, angels, and men. 

“ I do not understand all that,” said Marion ; “ but 
the rosary is enough for me to think of for to-night. 
I do like that very much. You nice little beads,” 
she added, seizing Miss Horton’s chaplet, “who 
would think there was so much in you ? But I 
should never remember the mysteries, will you 
write them down for me ?” 

“ I will, as soon as we get in,” said Emily; “but 
Miss Horton, mamma said Edie and I might go 


Trials and Triumphs . 105 

round and bring Dora and Jessie Seymour home to 
tea. Do you mind walking gently on with Marion? 
I dare say we shall catch you before you get far.” 
“ Certainly not, my dear; I am quite sure we 
shall get on very well together. If we get tired, 
we shall sit down, and make ourselves comfortable. 
I hope this little lady will not convert me, though !” 
“ I shall not try,” said Marion, laughing, “ for it 
would be only labor lost. I know you are as firm 
as a rock.” 

“ I hope so,” said Miss Horton, laughing in her 
turn; “I have not much disposition, certainly, to 
travel back again.” 

“ I cannot fancy that you were ever a Protestant,” 
said Marion; “ it seems such a strange thing.” 

“ Well, so it does, Marion ; I can scarcely fancy 
it myself sometimes,” replied Miss Plorton. 

0 Ah, yes ! but I do not mean it as you do,” cried 
Marion ; “I cannot fancy how people feel, who take 
such a tremendous step as to change their religion. 
It seems natural for Emily and Edith to. be Catho- 
lics, because they were born so, but it is different 
with you. Will you tell me why you changed ?” 
“ I think we had better do as I said we would, 
and sit down here first. Yes,” continued Miss 
Horton, as. soon as they had arranged themselves, 
“ I will give you one reason which, I think, you can 
understand, why I learned to like the Catholic 
religion, though this is by no means one of the 
chief ones.” 

‘‘What is it?” asked the child, anxiously. 

“ When I was a. little girl, Marion,” returned 


io6 Alar ion Howard ; or } 

her companion, “like most other little girls, I 
was giddy, thoughtless, and fond of play ; I very 
seldom thought about anything seriously, and 
though I could not conscientiously have neglected 
my religion, I fear it was little more to me than a 
thing of daily routine. As I grew older, however, 
my father, who was a very scientific man, wishing 
to give me a habit of reflection, gave me some 
books ; and among others, elementary works on 
the sciences. From this time I changed, a great 
fancy for this kind of study seized me, and, indeed, 
to this day, there are few things in which I take so 
deep an interest. My father’s intention in giving 
me these volumes had been that I should study 
nature, but I studied God. I saw the world as He 
had made it, bright, glorious, and beautiful ; but I 
saw more. I saw creation as a great harmonious 
whole, and the world in which we live and move, 
had now a fresh charm for me. The grand secrets 
of the past, revealed in the ‘ Stone Book of Geology,’ 
the mighty speculations of astronomy, the magnifi- 
cent discoveries of the telescope, the marvels of the 
microscope, each, and all, threw new ideas into 
my hitherto circumscribed notion of the Creator, 
Father, and a deep conviction gradually stole over 
my soul, that for a world so beautiful there must be 
one grand religion. As I looked at Protestantism, 
with its numerous sects, I felt how little it was in 
unison with the harmony of this creation ! Marion, 
my child, believe me, I am now thirty years of age; 
I have had friends in many sects and of many 
opinions, but, never among them all have I found 


io7 


Trials and Triumphs. 

two Protestants who thought alike. Now, in 
wordly matters this diversity of ideas is of little or 
no consequence, but it is not so with the things of 
God. He has revealed Himself, and by that revela- 
tion man must stand or fall. Depend upon it, He 
who made the material world so fair, has not left 
the spiritual one in mist. You look surprised, 
and perhaps, my dear, I have said too much — not 
a difficult thing to do upon a subject on which 
one feels very deeply. But now we shall have 
to leave our little nook, for I hear our young 
friends coming, and so we must reserve the rest of 
our conversation for another time.” 




CHAPTER VI. 

yj \ TIIER friends had arrived at the Cedars 
1 during the absence of Miss Horton and 

V/ the children, and in the course of the after- 
noon the party was still further increased 
by the arrival of Father Stirling, the parish 
priest. He was a man of not more than forty 
summers, but Care had cast her shadow upon 
him, for the stately figure was already slightly 
bowed, and the dark hair interwoven with many 
a silver thread ; but his look, his voice, his 
manner, were still young, and there was such 
an expression of fatherly kindness and benevo- 
lence in his whole mien, that he was a universal 
favorite, not only with his own flock, but even 
among the Protestant families of the bigoted 
little town of Harleyford. 

They were certainly a merry party, so much 
so, that when, after tea, they gathered into little 
sociable knots in different parts of the drawing- 
room, Marion, escaping from the rest, seated 
herself upon a retired ottoman, close to a French 
window, looking out upon the lawn. She felt 
so uncomfortable that, had she known how to 
beat a retreat unobserved, she would certainly 

108 


Trials and Triumphs. 109 

have done so; for though as yet conversation 
had been the order of the evening, it was some- 
thing so unusual to our little girl that she felt 
positively frightened. What, then, was her horror, 
when Joe suddenly appeared with card-box and 
counters, while Edith placed chess, draughts, and 
other games before them ! It was not long before 
the young people had obeyed Joe’s summons, 
and were rapidly seating themselves around the 
centre table. Father Stirling and Miss Horton 
engaged in a game of chess ; the others made 
up a whist party, while Jessie Seymour, seat- 
ing herself at the piano, accompanied herself 
in an Italian song. Marion withdrew still deeper 
into her nook, and snatching her little black 
book from her pocket, pressed it almost con- 
vulsively to her heart. 

“ O, Mr. Lisle, what would I not give to be 
talking to you in Ennington church-yard, as I 
was this day fortnight ! He is quite right ! The 
Catholic religion is a wicked thing ! I did like 
what Miss Horton told me; but I don’t care, 
I hate it all now.” 

“ Marion,” said Edith, “ they want you to play 
at cards, but you would not like to do so, 
would you ?” 

“ No, indeed, I should not,” replied Marion, 
very decidedly. 

“ Shall I come and sit with you, or would 
you rather read your book ?” 

“ I would rather read, please. Do not distress 

yourself about me. I am getting on very well.” 
10 


I IO 


M avion Howard ; or } 


“ Protestants do not do anything on Sundays 
but read, do they?” asked Edith. 

“No, nothing,” replied Marion, over whose 
bright little brow a very dark shadow was per- 
ceptibly gathering ; “ but do go back to your 
friends. I would really rather read than do any- 
thing else.” 

“ It seems so strange to leave you here to 
yourself.” 

“ No, not at all.” 

And so Marion was once more left unmo- 
lested, save by the peals of laughter from the 
round table, which now and then sadly dis- 
turbed her equanimity. But she only tried to 
read the harder. 

“What did she say?” asked Dora Seymour, 
taking her place at the cards, as Edith once 
more resumed her place. 

“ She seems quite vexed,” said Edith. 

“Are not Protestants ridiculous?” continued 
Dora. “Just as if there could possibly be any 
harm in anything Father Stirling sits by and 
allows.” 

A smile was Edie’s answer. 

“ I suppose they never do anything but read, 
pray, and talk scandal all day.” 

“ O, Dora!” 

“ Well, really, I mean it. I have a religious 
horror of a Protestant Sunday. What is she 
reading ?” 

“The Testament, I think.” 

Dora laughed. “ Hard work to be recollected 


1 1 1 


Trials and Triumphs. 

just now, I should imagine. I find it difficult 
enough to make a meditation in church. I should 
get awful distractions if I tried to make one 
here.” 

“So should I,” said Emily; “but she is only 
reading.” 

“ Well, but spiritual reading is almost like a 
meditation,” said Dora. “ Do you like that song 
Jessie sang just now — ‘II Se greto ?’ ” 

“Very much; she sings beautifully. You have 
both great taste for music.” 

And so the evening flew by, every one happy 
except little Golden-hair in the corner; gentleness 
and good humor prevailing on all sides. After 
a time the whist party broke up, and a varied 
conversation ensued, in which the members of 
the round game took part, as well as the two 
chess players. Many persons spoke to our little 
heroine, but she seemed so disinclined for conver- 
sation that all, even Mrs. Darrell gave up the 
attempt and left her to herself The fact was 
that Marion’s heart was divided. Young and 
light-hearted, she felt severely, not being able to 
take part in the pleasures around her, while all 
that Mr. Lisle had told her, and the promise she 
had made him, so mingled with her feelings of dis- 
appointment, that she not only felt sorry for what 
she considered her impiety, but felt positively 
miserable herself. It is true she pored over the 
pages of her little book, but though St. Paul’s 
words glided before her eyes, the meaning did 
not enter her mind, and at last sinking her head 


I I 2 


Marion Howard ; or , 

on the heap of cushions beside her, she closed 
her book. “ O, mamma, I wish I was with 
you !” she whispered again and again, almost 
crying. 

“ Well, little lonely bird, what have you been 
doing all the evening ?” said a gentle voice behind 

her. 

Marion started. Father Stirling had walked 
around to the other side of the ottoman, and was 
seated close to her elbow. 

“ Nothing,” she replied, looking up, and trying 
to seem bright; “I was only thinking about 
mamma.” 

“ Is she far away ?” 

“No; only nine miles,” said Marion, feeling 
rather ashamed at being so babyish. 

“That is not a seven days’ journey, is it?” 
asked Father Stirling, smiling ; “ and what do 

you think of Harleyford ?” 

“ It is a very pretty, clean little town.” 

“ And the Cedars ?” 

“The Cedars! I do not think I ever saw such 
a lovely place. I like it better and better every 
day. I could stop here forever, I am sure, and 
still find something fresh. Edith and Emily ought 
to be very happy.” 

“And so I think they are, do not you?” 

“Yes, very, and they are both so good. If you 
only knew how kind they were the day I came, to 
a poor woman we found in the wood; and Joe, too, 
is as good as his sisters.” And she related, with 
sparkling eyes, their adventure with poor Eliza. 


Trials and Triumphs . x 1 3 

“ And so you are very happy here ?” 

“Yes, generally, that is except this even- 

ing,” and she paused. 

“And this evening our little friend thinks us all 
very wicked, and feels unhappy,” returned Father 
Stirling, smiling. 

Marion hung her head. It was so exactly what 
she did think, that she had no reply to make. 

“What have you been reading?” asked the 
priest, laying his finger on Mr. Lisle’s book. 

“ St. Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians.” 

“And very beautiful it is,” replied Father Stir- 
ling, gently taking the book ; “ do you think you 
understand it?” 

“ Yes, very well,” answered Marion, with a little 
shadow of assumption in her tone ; “ the Bible is so 
simple, any child may understand it. God meant 
His word for ignorant people as well as wise ones, 
and so he made it plain.” 

“ Did you ever notice,” asked the priest, “ that 
the whole of the third chapter is in parenthesis ?” 
“In what?” asked Marion, opening her eyes. 

“ In parenthesis, all except the first verse, which 
reads on to the first verse of the fourth chapter, 
when it repeats the words, ‘ the prisoner of the 
Lord;’ so that leaving out the twenty parenthetical 
verses, the exhortation begins thus, ‘ For this cause, 
I, Paul, the prisoner of Jesus Christ for you Gen- 
tiles, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the high 
vocation wherewith ye are called.’ ” 

“I see,” said Marion, much interested, “but I 

never noticed it before.” 

10 * 


i x 4 


Marion Howard ; or ; 

“ Then how, my dear child, could you possibly 
understand the epistle? Do not . misunderstand 
me,” he continued, as Marion reddened with sud- 
den surprise and vexation; “I do not for an in- 
stant think you intended in any way to deceive me 
just now, but I wished you to see that you were 
deceiving yourself ; for, notwithstanding what you 
say about God’s word being so easy to understand, 
there are few things of which the meaning lies less 
on the surface than St. Paul’s Epistles. They are 
far more difficult than you imagine, and I question 
much whether there is a child or unlettered person 
in England, let him be ever so great a Bible reader, 
who could give anything like a clear explanation 
of any twelve consecutive verses in the whole of 
this great apostle’s epistles. Will you try ?” 

“ No indeed,” said Marion, drawing back from 
the book which he held to her; “for one thing, I 
have not been reading at all to-night, though I held 
the book in my hand.” 

“ I can well imagine that; you wanted something 
to amuse you. Devotion in the wrong time and 
place burdens the spirit, and even becomes distaste- 
ful. You do not like to confess it, even to yourself, 
but St. Paul was too dry for to-ni ght.” 

Marion smiled in spite of herself. 

“ There are some pretty books of Emily’s there ; 
you should have taken one of those.” 

“On Sunday! You do not know what they 
are.” 

“What, are they bad books?” exclaimed the 
priest, in well-feigned astonishment. 


Trials and Triumphs. 1 1 5 

“ No, but they are not religious books.” 

“ Do they speak lightly of God and holy things ?” 

“ No,” said Marion, who could not help laughing 
amid her vexation; “but I am sure you know what 
I mean.” 

“Well, I suppose I do,” said Father Stirling; 
“ the fact is, my little friend, you have been taught 
that Sunday not only has its peculiar duties, but its 
own amusements also, and you are consequently 
shocked at the admixture of anything not posi- 
tively religious in the observance of it.” 

“ Yes.” 

Father Stirling was here called upon by Joe 
to decide a knotty point with regard to a “ natural 
ving-et-unl ’ which having arranged to the satisfac- 
tion of the card table, he returned to Marion. 

“ Will you have a little walk around the garden 
with me ?” he asked. 

“Yes,” replied Marion, who had began to like 
her companion. 

More than one significant smile was exchanged 
as they passed through the open window, and at 
least one fervent prayer ascended from the card 
table, that the little stranger might hear the first 
whisper of her call heavenward. 

“How calm everything is?” said Father Stirling, 
as they stood watching the setting sun, just as 
Marion had done the week before in Dr. Stebbing’s 
garden. “ It seems a soft and peaceful ending 
of God’s own day. I think the Beneficent Father 
has shown His love for his creatures, perhaps, 
more in the institution of the day of rest than 


Marion Howard ; or , 


1 16 

in any one other earthly blessing He has bestowed 
upon us. ‘ The bow of Apollo is not always bent/ 
said the ancients, and sweetly indeed is the bow of 
the week’s toil relaxed by the sweet repose of 
Sunday.” 

“ It is very nice here,” said Marion, as they 
wandered up and down a pretty alley, carpeted 
with turf as soft as velvet, and bordered on each 
side by a high yew hedge. “ It is much nicer 
here than in the house.” 

The clergyman smiled. “ Both have their charms, 
I think, but change is always pleasant, do you not 
think so ?” 

“Yes, I do; but for the first time since I have 
been here, I longed to be by myself to-night.” 

“ Do you want me to go away ?” 

“ No, I like you now.” 

“ But you did not like me at first.” 

“ I did not like you while you were playing 
chess, or when you were watching the others 
playing cards.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, Father Stirling, I think such things 
are wicked. You puzzle me; for one minute you 
talk so nicely about Sunday, when just before you 
have been — ” 

“Breaking it! Out with it, you will not offend 

me.” 

“Well, that is really what it seems to me, and I 
promised before I came, whatever I might see, to 
keep Sunday properly myself. The first part of 
the day was very nice, stricter I think even than we 


Trials and Triumphs . 1 1 7 

are ourselves ; but since tea it has all seemed 
so dreadful, that when you first spoke to me I was 
actually crying.” 

“ I know you were, and I liked you all the better 
for it.” 

“ Did you?” asked Marion. “Why?” 

“Because I saw you were conscientious. You 
would dearly have loved to join the gayety around 
you, but you were afraid of offending God and 
disobeying your mother, and so you begrudged us 
a glance. I was watching you with one eye and 
my chess with the other, and though I of course 
believed that in common with other Protestants 
you are mistaken in your Sabbatharian ideas, I 
nevertheless believe you will not lose your reward 
for this night’s firmness. I should have been as 
grieved to have had you for a partner this evening 
as I was pleased to have Miss Horton.” 

“ And yet, Miss Horton was once a Pro- 
testant.” 

“And so was I. Yes, my child, you may 
look surprised, but I used to keep Sunday far 
more strictly than you, or perhaps any one 
you know. My family were Presbyterians, for 
I am a Scotchman, and it was not permitted 
by that sect to touch the piano on Sunday, 
even to play sacred music, with many other 
notions peculiar to themselves.” 

“ Father Stirling, I never could have thought 
that you had been a Protestant ; but why is it 
that Catholics keep Sunday in such a strange 
wrong way ?” 


1 1 8 


Marion Howard ; or } 


Father Stirling laughed good-humoredly. “ First 
of all, tell me what you have seen wrong. You 
say the early part of the day was quite as you 
could have wished.” 

“ Yes, indeed, perfectly so.” 

“And setting aside the fact of its being Sunday, 
have you seen anything to displease you ? Have 
you seen any sin committed, or heard anything 
in any way improper ?” 

“ Every one is too good for that. I do think 
the whole family would be perfect if” — and she 
paused. 

“They were not Catholics!” exclaimed Father 
Stirling. “ Well, I am very glad you acquit 
us of everything but Sabbath-breaking, for I 
think that I can show you that, thinking as 
we do, we have by no means committed sin.” 

Marion shook her head incredulously. 

“ First of all, my child, we must remember 
that ‘the Sabbath was made for man, and not 
man for the Sabbath.’ These were the words 
of our blessed Lord, as He rambled through 
the corn-fields one Sabbath day, talking to His 
disciples, who were plucking the ears of corn, 
and rubbing them in their hands, as they passed 
along. The Jews grumbled even at the works 
of love that He performed on that day, so we 
see there is no pitch of absurdity too great 
for a man to arrive at, when he begins in any 
way to alter, strain, or add to, the command- 
ments of God. But even Protestants admit that 
works of piety, charity, and necessity are lawful, 


Trials and Triumphs. 1 1 9 

so that, however strict they may be, they pray, 
preach, attend the sick, relieve the unfortunate, 
drink, eat, and even make no scruple of poking 
their fires and snuffing their candles on Sunday. 
According to their creed they are more or less 
particular. But we go further. God says : ‘ Keep 
the Sabbath day holy.’ Any Catholic missing 
Mass, commits, by the law of his Church, a 
deadly sin. God says: ‘Thou shalt do no manner 
of work/ and take the only Catholic family you 
have ever visited — and which, let us hope, may 
stand as a fair type of the rest — and what do 
you tell me ? They are, if anything, stricter 
than your own household.” He paused, but 
Marion made no reply. 

“ With regard to keeping it holy, the Sab- 
bath cannot be too much hallowed. Good Cath- 
olics generally sanctify it, at its very commence- 
ment, by a union with God, sweeter, holier, deeper, 
than I could make you understand, namely, by 
Holy Communion. This I know, my dear child, 
is beyond your present experience of things 
divine — may the Almighty God enlighten you ! — 
but I tell vou, because it is an action with us 
so sacred that any sin committed during the 
day would seem, if possible after this, doubly 
terrible. Many of our congregation — indeed, I 
may safely say all — whose duties will permit 
them, regularly attend two Masses, as the family 
here have done to-day, and prayers and Bene- 
diction in the afternoon, while, should we ever 
be able to maintain another priest, we should 


120 


Marion Howard ; or, 

have an evening service, which, I have not the 
slightest doubt, would be well attended. Nor 
is this lip service alone. I am quite certain any 
stranger visiting our church this afternoon must 
have felt, looking on the bowed heads around, 
that every heart was praying.” 

“ O, yes ! I did think so, everything was so beau- 
tiful, I could have stayed in the church for ever.” 
“Very well, then, you admit so far, that we 
hallow the Sabbath day, and that we abstain, as far 
as possible, from servile work.” 

“Yes, I do, but — ” 

“Is a jailor to bring forth some monstrous male- 
factor?” added the priest, laughing. “Well, let 
him come.” 

“ It is not at all difficult to tell you what I mean. 
Why do you play cards and chess, sing songs, and 
read novels on Sunday ?” 

“ Because God never forbade us to do so.” 
“What do you mean, Father Stirling?” 

“ Simply what I say, dear child — that God, in 
commanding us to hallow the Sabbath day, never 
_ forbade us innocent recreation. He does not even 
allude to the subject. God instituted the Sabbath 
for two ends, for His own honor and glory, and for 
the repose and renewal of the mental and physical 
powers of man. We fulfil the one end by our 
devotions, the other, as I have already said, by 
harmless amusements. Now, this is our rule ; 
whatever amusement has in it a shadow of evil, is 
wrong on Sunday, and consequently forbidden ; 
but mark, it is also wrong on Monday, Tuesday, 


I 21 


Trials and Triumphs . 

and all the days of the week, and forbidden, too. 
A simple game of vingt-et-un bears with it no sin ; 
it is perfectly harmless ; but were a man to gamble 
on Sunday night he would commit a sin, tho ugh 
his sin would be equally bad every day. Jessie 
Seymour has well attended to all her religious 
duties during the day, let us hope; to-night she 
relaxes our spirits and her own, by the charm of 
her beautiful voice. Nor would we have had her 
melody sacred, for one likes not to hear holy 
things without attention, and therefore in the light- 
hearted mood of the company secular music was 
both more appropriate and more agreeable.” 

“ But, mamma says, that in Paris, the shops are 
many of them open, and the cafes, theatres, and all 
kinds of places of amusement. Do you approve of 
that ?” 

“ Miss Howard, I know few things more distress- 
ing, and yet, at the same time sweeter, than Sun- 
day in Paris. You may well look surprised, for 
this is, certainly, what we call a paradox. For 
one, who has been all his life accustomed to the 
solemn stillness of an English Sunday, I know 
few things more painful than to walk the streets of 
Paris on a Sunday morning, where open shops, 
itinerant venders, bustling purchasers, loaded carts, 
and carriages, meet the eye at every turn. To a 
Catholic, finding himself, for the first time, in a 
country professing his own faith, it is more than 
painful, it is overwhelming. But let him ask one 
fervent Catholic that he meets, what he thinks of 

it, and the reply will be that of my own friend, 
11 


122 Marion Howard; or y 

M. TAbbe B — , ‘ C'est un vrai sc and ale! France 
is essentially Catholic. Look at her mighty body 
of faithful priests, her monks, her nuns, her incom- 
parable, her devoted Sceurs de Charite, and last, 
not least, her beautiful, crowded churches, and he 
will find rel igion doing her mighty, but silent work. 
But, my child, there is another element in France 
besides Catholicity, and that is Infidelity. Fatal 
offspring of the wretched Voltaire, nourished by 
the blood of the Revolution, and fostered by the 
impious publications with which France is still 
inundated, its fruits appear in evil of every shape. 
How can a man who writes on the gates of the 
graveyard, ‘ Death is an eternal sleep,’ be expected 
to close a wicked romance, to turn from an evil 
play, or still less, to shrink from the desecration 
of the Sabbath ? No, it is very mournful to walk 
th rough crowds intent on breaking God’s com- 
mandments ; but, remember, amid all its sadness, 
it is French, it is Infidel, but, my child, it is not 
Catholic.” 

“ But what do you like in their Sunday, then, 
Father Stirling?” 

“ I like to walk on Sunday afternoon, or evening, 
in the more rural parts of this metropolis, and to 
see the merriment, gayety, and heartfelt glee that 
prevail on all sides. I like to see groups of people 
wandering here and there, and young men, boys, 
and children engaging in what are really innocent 
amusements. For instance, 1 love a ramble in the 
Bois de Boulogne, as the evening is closing in, and 
all are on the qui vive for a display of fire works 


Trials and Triumphs . 


123 


I love to see the crowds in the Louvre, or the 
Palais d’Industrie, the gardens of the Tuileries, 
and Luxembourg, and the more fashionable Champs 
Elysees. I like to see the carriages wheeling past, 
when you know the hour for devotion is over, and 
that the exercise to the spirited horses is not 
labor. I love the afternoon excursion to Versailles, 
or St. Cloud, to see the waters play, and I like to 
see the merry parties seated outside and inside 
the gay cafes and restaurants on the Boulevards, 
because all this may be innocent, and is recre- 
ative.” 

“ And would you go to theatres and balls then 
too ?” 

“ No ! a decided, unmitigated no ! and for the 
simple reason, that I would not go to theatres and 
balls on other days. There is the possibility 
that these places may be sinless, but I question 
much, whether any young person ever left a thea- 
tre or a public ball-room, as good and pious as she 
entered it. Should you know more of Catholic 
society, as you grow up, you will find that really 
serious people frequent neither one nor the other, 
and you will moreover see that in the private even- 
ing party, the strict Catholic will be much more 
guarded than many a good Protestant. For 
instance, I should be surprised to see Emily or 
Edith, when they grow up, dance anything more 
than a quiet quadrille, unless it were a circular 
dance with each other, or some other young girl.” 

“ Is it wrong, then, to dance polkas and waltzes ?” 
asked Marion, opening her eyes very wide. 


124 


Marion Howard ; or , 

u I do not say that, but I hope no one in whom 
I am interested will ever dance them. And, as you 
see, I do not like polkas any day,” he added, smil- 
ing, “you are not likely to find them in my list of 
Sunday amusements. Do you think you under- 
stand us better now ?” 

“Yes,” returned Marion, frankly, “but I should 
be very sorry to join in amusements myself.” 

“ Nor does any one desire you to do so, my dear 
child ; act up to your own conscience ; all I ask 
of you, is not to be scandalized when other people 
act up to theirs. Prejudice goes a great way with 
us all. We live in a Protestant country, and its stiff- 
ness finds its way even into Catholic families. We 
are all bound to keep Sunday holy, under pain of 
sin, but certainly beyond making ourselves dull 
and mopy, we should do nothing worse, if after 
church we took up our Bibles and prayer-books, 
and never lifted our eyes from them till we 
went to bed. We should lose much happiness, 
but we should commit no sin ; while were you, on 
the contrary, in your present belief, to engage in 
amusements which you thought to be displeasing 
to God, however innocent they might be in them- 
selves, you would do decidedly wrong. It was for 
this reason I was pleased with you this evening, 
and much as I should like to hear you sing,” he 
added smiling, “ I should be very sorry for you 
even to favor me with the ‘ Last Rose of Summer.’” 

Marion was silent. Father Stirling’s words were, 
she felt, reasonable, and her agitation of spirit had 
quite subsided. Beneath the soft influence of his 


125 


Trials and Triumphs . 

words, she felt the vitality of the atmosphere 
around her, and saw that, however she might disap- 
prove of the Catholic Sundays, they were not, in 
their gayest moments, freed from the restraints of 
Catholic piety. 

“And now shall we go back to the others, or do 
you still shrink from the drawing-room ?” asked the 
priest. 

“ No, not at all ; you have done really as you 
said, and I do feel that the Sunday amusements of 
Catholics are no sin to them.” 

“ On the contrary, my child, you see one may 
almost call them a part of their religion, since, 
by them, they recreate their souls for God’s better 
service.” 

Marion looked up. “ Amusement is a strange 
part of religion though,” she answered, musingly. 

“ It is astonishing,” replied Father Stirling, “ into 
what trifling actions of our lives religion does enter. 
Did it ever strike you, that in eating your dinner, 
you perform not only a necessary, but a religious 
action ?” 

“ No,” said Marion, laughing. 

“ And yet the Bible says, ‘ Whether you eat, or 
drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory 
of God.’ We eat to sustain life, and surely the 
great end of the life He has given to us, is God. 
No, my child, not the smallest action of a Catholic 
is unsanctified by his religion ! I say Catholic, 
because Protestants do not, with perhaps some 
few exceptions, think of these things at all in 

a religious light, and consequently lose many little 
11 * 


126 Marion Howard; or ; 

graces, lurking even in the ordinary routine of 
every day life.” 

At this moment some other members of the party 
made their appearance. 

“ Where is papa?” asked Father Stirling, of 
Emily, who had been saying “Hail Maries” in- 
numerable for Marion, but who, seeing the tete-a- 
tete ended, came bounding towards them. 

“There he is, talking to Jessie; but really, 
father, you must not go to him yet, please ; I 
have just been to bring the battle-door, for you are 
such a nice player. Do stop for five minutes,” 
she added pleadingly, holding it out for him. 

“ Certainly, till supper time, if you like ; there,” 
he added, sending the shuttle-cock spinning into 
the air, “ catch that if you can.” 

But Emily did catch it, while Father Stirling, on 
his side, let it fall, amid a peal of laughter from 
Marion and his little antagonist. But notwith- 
standing this mishap, he really was a good player, 
and they kept the little shuttle-cock in a constant 
whirl, Emily springing from side to side like a 
fawn, till poor Father Stirling, who was not quite 
so agile, began to grow very warm and red. 

“Well done! well done!” cried Mr. Darrell, for 
by this time quite a group had assembled on 
the green sward. “ Talk of gladiators and chariot 
races, I wonder whether ever the Forum witnessed 
such a trial of skill as this !” 

“ That you may safely say it did not,” exclaimed 
Father Stirling, aiming a blow at the shuttle-cock, 
“ nor anything half so sensible.” 


127 


Trials and 'Triumphs . 

“ I wonder how you would get on, if I were 
Nero, ready to kill and fry the first who let the 
shuttle-cock down.” 

“ Rather nervously, I expect ; but what a bar- 
barian you must be, to make a man talk during 
such hard work as this!” cried Father Stirling, 
almost out of breath. 

“ O, go on ; seeing that I am weaving a laurel 
crown for the victor,” said Mr. Darrell, cutting a 
branch. 

“ Each of them has let it fall once,” said Edith, 
“ so they are quite even. Jessie is counting, they 
will soon reach three hundred.” 

“ Let us go on to a thousand, father,” cried 
Emily. 

“Thank you; you would have to play with my 
ghost! There,” he added, throwing down the 
battle-door, and seating himself on the grass, “ I am 
quite done for, and ready to be crowned.” 

“ Rather a cool request, for the vanquished, I 
must say,” exclaimed Mr. Darrell, “ No, I adjudge 
the wreath to Emily, the victor, and death to the 
vanquished by starvation. See, I hold up my 
thumb, he shall go without his supper.” 

“ Misericordia !” cried Father Stirling, from the 
grass, while Emily was adorned by her father with 
a very spiky crown of laurel. 

Marion was wonderfully amused by the merri- 
ment around her. “ But is it possible,” she 
thought, “that that joyous face belongs to the 
same man who stood preaching so gravely this 
afternoon, and who afterwards performed that very 


128 Marion Howard; or f 

solemn service ?” She could no more have fan- 
cied Mr. Lisle playing at battle-door and shuttle- 
cock, than she could have imagined him vested in 
Father Stirling’s priestly robes. 

After supper, of which, notwithstanding Mr. 
Darrell’s judgment, Father Stirling did partake, 
there was a general move among the guests. 

“ Edie, dear,” whispered Emily, “don’t you wish 
Father Stirling would come and say the rosary 
and night prayers with us in the little chapel ?” 
“Yes,” replied Edith, delighted with the idea; 
“see, there he is, walkmg up and down the terrace; 
let us go and ask him ;” and the twins were soon 
by the side of their pastor. 

“Certainly, my children; there is nothing I 
should like better. We must go at once though, 
for it is getting late. Call Joe.” 

The chapel in question was a pretty little build- 
ing, deeply hidden in a copse of trees, which 
Eather Stirling himself had blessed a few days 
previously. 

A large image of the Mother of God surmounted 
the altar, which the care of the twins always kept 
bright with flowers. Edith soon lighted the tapers, 
and Father Stirling was on the point of commenc- 
ing, when Marion’s voice w r as heard calling her 
companions, in evident perplexity at their absence. 
“ Shall I go to her, father ?” asked Edie. 

“Yes; tell her what we are going to do, and if 
she likes, let her join us.” 

Edith accordingly ran off, and in a few seconds 
returned with Marion. 


Trials and Triumphs , 129 

“ So you have come to say your prayers, while 
we say ours,” said the priest; “ but we are going to 
say our beads first, and I am afraid they will scam 
dalize you.” 

“Do you mean the rosary?” 

“Yes, see!” and he held it up. 

“ O, no ! Miss Horton told me all about it, and 
if the prayers were only to God, instead of the 
Virgin Mary, I should very much like to think of 
all the different things she told me.” 

“ By the by, that reminds me that Miss Horton 
would, I am sure, like to join us. Run, Joe, and 
see.” 

For a few minutes the little party were silent. 

“ Father Stirling,” said Marion, at length, “ if you 
will tell me the things you are going to meditate 
upon, I will try and think about them, too ; that is, 
of course, without saying the prayers.” 

“Very well, come and kneel then by me, and I 
will tell you what each mystery is before we begin 
the decade. But will you promise me just one 
little thing ?” 

“ If I can,” said Marion. 

“ I assure you it is nothing difficult.” 

“Then I do,” answered the child. 

“Ask our Blessed Lord before you begin, that 
He will teach you to love and reverence His holy 
Mother, as far as is pleasing to Himself.” 

“Yes, I will,” and the head was immediately 
bowed. 

The devotions commenced, and Marion followed 
Father Stirling through the first three glorious 


130 


Marion Howard . . 


mysteries. The Assumption and Coronation were 
events unknown to the little Protestant, but she 
wandered back in spirit to those she could under- 
stand, happy in the very presence, as it were, of a 
risen, glorified Redeemer. 

“ Father Stirling,” whispered the child, as they 
crossed the lawn, now bright with the gleam of the 
summer moonlight, “ your religion is very beauti- 
ful ; I sometimes think I should like to be a Catho- 
lic myself.” 

“Deo gratia s /” ejaculated the priest, but his only 
answer to Golden-hair was a smile. 



CHAPTER VII. 


(ft 


<4 

£' 

v i ) 


[T was evident to her young companions that 
Marion Howard was attracted towards their 
religion, but, following the advice of Father 
Stirling, they refrained from saying anything to 
her on the subject, although she went with them 
every morning to Mass. 

“ Leave her to herself/’ said the priest, “ and let 
her overcome those little prejudices, so small in 
themselves, but such insuperable barriers to a 
reception of the faith. A farthing is not very 
large, and yet, if held before the eye, it may hide 
a colossus.” 

One morning, about ten days after Marion’s 
conversation with Father Stirling, detailed in the 


last chapter, Mrs. Darrell was surprised, in the 
midst of her morning duties, by a visit from that 
gentleman. 

“ I have called to ask you,” said he, “if you 
think we might make up a little party to-morrow to 
Barnett’s Wood. The weather is beautiful, and as 
we have holidays just now at the schools, I am a 
little less busy than usual. What do you think ?” 

“ O, mamma ! O, Father Stirling ! Plow delight- 


131 


1 3 2 


M avion Howard ; or, 

ful !” exclaimed Emily, springing up and clapping 
her hands. 

“ Stop, stop, mad-cap ; you do not know whether 
you are going yet. Things require a little con- 
sideration,” said the priest. 

“ O, I am sure mamma is quite ready !” 

“But, how about papa?” objected the sober 
Edith. 

“ The carting will not be finished before to- 
morrow night,” said Joe, who had been chatting 
to the girls from the garden, through the open 
window ; “ but I think papa will be quite free on 
Thursday.” 

“Joe is right,” said Mrs. Darrell. “I am very 
sorry, but I am afraid Mr. Darrell would not be 
able to leave his men to-morrow.” 

“ What a pity !” cried all the children in a 
chorus. 

“ Couldn’t you manage to make it Thursday, 
father ?” asked Emily, coaxingly, and sideling up 
to him. 

“ Well, really,” he replied, stroking his chin, “ I 
don’t know ; but I suppose it will not be quite 
impossible, even to do that.” 

“ Mr. Darrell could go with us then, I know,” 
said their mother. 

“Very well, then,” said Father Stirling, “I must 
contrive it too. As for getting Seymour to join 
us, that is, I suppose, quite out of the question ; 
country doctors get few holidays ; but I am sure 
Mrs. Seymour and the children would enjoy the 
day very much, if we could contrive to pack them.” 


r 33 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“O, yes, I think we can manage it if we take 
the phaeton and dog-cart/’ replied Mrs. Darrell. 

“ Suppose I was to borrow old Jackson’s gig, 
and relieve you of myself and one of these- little 
people ?” suggested the priest. 

“ O, please take me, father !” cried all the chil- 
dren together. 

“Let us draw lots,” said Joe; and, amid a great 
deal of fun and laughing, it was agreed that Emily 
should ride to the Wood in the gig, and that 
Marion should be Father Stirling’s companion 
back. 

Mr. Darrell’s hay had been all safely housed the 
night before, and the June morning rose without a 
cloud. Miss Horton and the children went to 
Mass and brought back Father Stirling in triumph 
to breakfast. All were in rampant spirits, for 
Emily alone was sufficient to have sustained a 
whole regiment in merriment. How she sang and 
danced, and frisked, running up and down the 
drive every five minutes, to see whether Rufus was 
coming ; and when at last he did arrive, with the 
unfashionable equipage lumbering behind him, 
Boadicea never sat more proudly in her chariot 
than did Emily Darrell in old Jackson’s gig beside 
Father Stirling. 

What a sensation they created as the three 
carriages rolled on, one after the other, through 
little villages, where staring peasants and gaping 
children greeted them from every house, old 
women smiling, the girls grinning, and the ragged 
urchins waving their caps, hallooing and hurrahing 


134 


Marion Howard ; or, 

after them until they were hoarse. On through 
turnpike roads, past hay fields dotted with hay- 
makers, and smiling cornfields ripening fast. On, 
amid singing birds and gurgling brooks, past 
loaded wains, and roadside inns, with dingy signs 
creaking with the wind. On, past dusty travellers, 
who turned and gazed with wonder at the merry 
cavalcade ; past hedges, gay with dog-roses and 
honeysuckles ; past cottages covered with wood- 
bine and jessamine, and village churches buried 
deep in ivy. 

On through the sweet green lawns of dear old 
England, where spreading trees met high above 
their heads ; through country scenes with cows 
and sheep scattered in the meadows, and boys 
swinging on the gates, or riding heavy cart 
horses to water. On through summer heat and 
summer stillness, broken only by the rattle of 
their own wheels, and the joyous laughter of their 
own light hearts. And then the Wood ! O, the 
delight of running wild beneath those grand old 
trees — of leaping through masses of fern that 
waved high above their heads — of tying up the 
horses — of jumping in and out of the empty 
carriages, in search of viands stowed away in 
all conceivable places, and of seeking a clear 
smooth place to spread the cloth, and decking 
the branches of a tree with hats and bonnets! 
O, the charm of all those thousand and one de- 
lights to be found only in a picnic ! 

“See!” cried Joe from a distance, “here are 
the remains of a fire!” 


1 35 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ Some one has been here before/’ sapiently 
remarked Emily. 

“ Gipsies, perhaps,” suggested Marion. 

“ What fun if they would come now,” cried 
Emily. “ I should so love to see some real, live 
gipsies. What a splendid life theirs must be !” 

“ Do you think so ?” asked her father. “ I 
question it very much. A picnic is all very 
well, but for my part, I would rather be a 
Christian, and live in a house.” 

“ O, papa, now listen ! If I could have my 
own way, I would be a gipsy girl, living in 
the woods, like a bird. I should like you to 
be the great king of the band, and me the 
little queen. Fancy how beautiful it would be, 
always living in a wood like this, or travelling 
about from one place to another, on a white 
donkey crowned with flowers !” 

“You on a donkey?” 

“ Me, of course ! And for the other gipsies 
to gather around ready to defend us. O, papa, 
I am sure the gipsies must be the most delicious 
people in the world. They seem so good and 
innocent, so unlike other people. As for their 
stealing children, everybody knows that is non- 
sense.” 

“Very likely; at any rate we will give them 
the benefit of the doubt. But I wish their 
consciences were equally clear in the matter of 
fowl-roosts and clothes-lines. Delicious people ! 
So much for the romance of young brains ! Yes, 
very like a king I should look certainly, link- 


136 Marion Howard ; or , 

ering away at old pots and pans, while your 
majesty went around cheating servant girls out 
of their sixpences. I wonder if you would be 
brave enough to sleep on the grass in summer, 
and frogs, spiders, and beetles walking over 
you, and how you would like hiding yourself 
in the winter in the worst holes and corners 
of the town ? Emmy, Emmy, what a set of 
scamps you have chosen for your favorites!” 

This picnic was, of course, no exception to 
the general rule, for a whole hamper of glasses, 
small plates, and the corkscrew, were found to 
have been forgotten. What did that matter, while 
three laughing mouths could drink out of one 
glass, while tarts could be eaten in the fingers, 
and bottle-necks broken off? They had come 
to enjoy themselves, and enjoy themselves they 
did, laughing so immoderately that Tom and 
Betsy were obliged to run away to preserve a 
decent gravity, while the very horses turned 
from their feast of leaves to shake their ears 
in astonishment. But, delightful as they are, 
picnic dinners will not last forever. All was 
over at length, and again a wild troop rushed 
through the ferns; but the day was very warm, 
the first excitement over, and tired out, even 
with fun, the children at last sank down to 
rest beneath the spreading branches of a right- 
royal oak, not far from the elder party, who 
were quietly conversing on subjects very unin- 
teresting to our little friends, whatever they may 
have been to themselves. 


J 37 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“Now, Joe, tell us a story,” cried Emily, as 
she and Marion settled themselves very com- 
fortably against the tree stump. 

“What a notion!” cried Joe. “Go and ask 
Father Stirling to preach you a sermon.” 

“ Thank you, we would rather have the story.” 

“But * story, I have none to tell/” cried Joe, 
unconsciously quoting Shakspeare. 

“ Make one up then,” said Jessie. 

“ By George, you might as well set me to make 
a pudding.” 

“ Nonsense, Joe, you know you can think of 
plenty, if you choose; you read enough.” 

“ Tell us the one you were reading all last 
evening,” said Edie. 

“ It is too long.” 

“You can make it short,” cried Emily; “I know 
the one Edie means; it is called ‘Rosalind.’ I 
caught Joe crying over it last ni ght.” 

“ O, Em, what a shame ! I declare I was only 
blowing my nose; but you girls had better get 
your handkerchiefs ready, for it is very sentimental, 
I can tell you. Well, here goes,” he continued, 
and clearing his throat after the most approved 
fashion, and blushing up, as only a boy of fifteen 
can blush, he commenced the story of 

ROSALIND. 

Once upon a time there was a princess, great, 
rich, and beautiful, and her name was Rosalind. 
She was the daughter of a mighty king, and the 

fame of her beauty was so great that her father’s 

12 * 


1 38 Marion Hoivard; or , 

court was always crowded with knights and noble- 
men, princes and minstrels, and each and all were 
the suitors of the lovely Rosalind. But amid all 
this homage she was sweet and innocent as a 
mountain daisy. She would run away from the 
state of the royal palace, to roam the woods with 
her maidens, and would turn away from a grand 
speech, it had cost some unfortunate lover a week 
to concoct, to play with her pure white fawn. This 
fawn had been her mother’s once, and now that that 
mother lay in the cold grave, Rosalind clung to it 
fondly, and loved it better than anything in the 
world, except her father. As the months rolled by, 
they found Rosalind every day more beautiful, and 
her lovers more despairing, for she grew more 
indifferent to them than ever, and so some of the 
poor fellows went off in desperation and found 
other brides, or went to the crusades, or sat at 
home and turned misers, and woman haters, and all 
for the sake of Rosalind. 

One night there was a great storm, and amid 
flashing lightning and pealing thunder, a great 
knocking was heard at the castle gate. The warder 
looked forth, and he beheld a tall knight on a coal- 
black charger, who asked for shelter. And the 
warder bade him welcome in the name of his royal 
master, and the tall knight rode into the court-yard, 
and raised his visor. The Lady Rosalind looked 
forth from her casement, and gazed with wonder 
at this knight, more handsome than the heroes of 
her wildest dreams, and for the first time the white 
fawn licked her hand unnoticed. A splendid ban- 


Trials and Triumphs . 139 

quet was spread in the hall below, for it was a day 
of high festival, and when the Lady Rosalind sat 
down beneath the gilded canopy, by her father’s 
side, the stranger knight came and bowed himself 
almost to the ground before her, and Rosalind 
trembled. But as for the knights, when they saw 
their wit unnoticed, and the minstrels’ songs un- 
heard, they grew positively green with jealousy, 
and kicked the white fawn on the sly, and scowled 
on the handsome stranger. 

“ My name is Rodolph, and I am bound for 
Palestine,” he said, and the king glanced at the red 
cross, and the golden spurs, and was silent. 

Days and weeks flew by, and still the stranger 
lingered ; and Rosalind grew pale, and the white 
fawn desolate, and the lovers almost raving mad 
with jealousy. 

One night the king found Rosalind weeping, 
and Rodolph on his knees, and the old gentleman 
was rather astonished. 

The knight rose, towering to his full height. 

“ Sire, I love the Lady Rosalind.” 

“And you, my child?” 

“ Father, I will be obedient.” 

And the old man was so charmed with the 
answer, that he joined their hands then and there. 

The next day there was a grand feast in honor 
of Rodolph and Rosalind, and as the despised 
lovers were obliged to drink the health of the 
happy pair, most of them ate a good dinner, to 
comfort them in their disappointment. And then 
Rodolph went to fulfil his vow at the crusades, 


/ 


140 Marion Howard; or, 

and Rosalind shut herself up with her maidens and 
white fawn, inconsolable for many days. But when 
they talked to her of the time when Rodolph 
should come back and make her his bride, she 
smiled again and fondled her fawn, and again her 
laugh was heard in the green wood, as she rambled 
with her maidens. 

But sorrow cast her heavy shadow over the 
royal castle. One night, the watch-dog howled, 
the bat flapped his black wings, the screech-owl 
hooted in the ivy, and when the morning dawned 
the Lady Rosalind was an orphan and a queen. 
Her maidens spoke in vain of comfort now, as she 
lay on the ground, beside her father’s bier, and 
sobbed. 

But as time went by, even this grief grew paler, 
and Rosalind was the crowned queen of a great 
nation, with crowds watching for her at her palace 
gates, and hailing her with shouts and smiles. But 
though she smiled in return, her heart was very 
heavy, for the past was buried in her father’s 
grave, and the present, dreary without Rodolph, 
made the future a blank. She heard no tidings of 
her absent lover, and Rosalind drooped, but grew 
each day more lovely in her sadness, like the lily 
of the valley. 

One day she rambled on the seashore, alone 
with her fawn, for even her maidens grew weari- 
some in her grief, and she watched wave after 
wave roll in, gilded by the setting sun, and she 
thought of Rodolph till she wept aloud, kneeling 
on the bleak and lonely shore. 


Trials and Triumphs . 141 

“ Daughter of an ancient race,” said a deep, 
strange voice, and turning, she beheld an old man 
standing by her side. His robe was long and flow- 
ing, his beard and hair white as snow, and his 
whole frame bowed with the weight of years. 
But the princess shrunk beneath the glance of two 
piercing eyes, that entered her very soul. 

“ What will you ?” she asked proudly. 

“To comfort you, Princess.” 

Rosalind smiled scornfully. “Do you hold the 
reins of fate in your hands, old man ?” she asked. 

“I do ! Come and see !” 

Spell-bound by a power she could not resist, 
Rosalind followed the stranger. Their way lay 
along the coast, and as she went on, the scene 
grew wilder at every step ; large rocks and heaps 
of sand, covered with coarse herbage and sea shells, 
stretched away as far as the eye could reach on one 
side, and the wide roaring ocean on the other. 
Her guide at length stopped before the entrance 
of a cavern in the range of gloomy rocks, and 
turned and gazed upon her. 

“ Enter,” he said. 

“To what end?” asked the maiden. “I have 
followed thus far because you spoke of comfort, 
and for this my weary soul. yearns with a longing 
indescribable. But, can there be aught to comfort 
in such a spot as this ? Let me go back, I see my 
folly !” 

But the wrinkled hand still pointed inflexibly to 
the cave. “ Enter,” he said again. 

“ No ; it would be of no avail. Who are you ?” 


142 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“ One in whose grasp lies the past, the present, 
and the future, and at whose nod the very fates bow 
low. My name is Azor, royal maiden. Trust me, 
and enter; heaven, earth, destiny, veil no secrets 
from my glance.” 

Rosalind hesitated for an instant, and then, with 
a faltering step, followed her guide through the 
dark portal of his dwelling ; the white fawn trem- 
bled, but left not her mistress’ side. They passed 
along a tortuous passage cut in the solid rock, and 
Rosalind shrunk as she walked through the dreary 
darkness, for the cold earth-damp struck to her 
very soul. But the pride of her warlike race sus- 
tained her as she followed the glimmer of her 
guide’s lamp ; the passage gradually widened, and 
at length she found herself in a spacious chamber. 

It was a strange looking room, hung with skins, 
and lighted by the dull red lamps, that shed a 
murky glare around. A furnace burnt in one 
corner, over which a dwarf, hideous in its light, 
bent to replenish it. A curtain rose from the roof 
at one end of the apartment, and Rosalind trembled, 
as she thought what its heavy folds might conceal. 

The wizard gazed on his lovely guest, a smile, 
almost of satisfaction, hovering on his lips, though 
his arms folded on his breast, gave him an aspect 
of deep humility ; but, beneath the lurid glow of 
those fearful eyes, again the maiden trembled. 

“ Princess, give the sign, and that mirror, un- 
veiled, shall reveal the absent Rodolph. 

Rosalind started, and gazed fearfully around her, 
then, clasping her hands, firmly bowed her head. 


Trials and Triumphs. 


T 43 


As the curtain slowly rose, a large surface of 
crystal appeared before her. Rosalind at first could 
see nothing more, but while she gazed, a majestic 
forest rose to the surface, glorious with waving 
palms and the luxuriant vegetation of the east. A 
figure appeared in sight, and, with a bounding 
heart, Rosalind recognized her lover. 

Breathlessly she watched him as he made his 
way through the tangled brushwood. “ He lives ! 
He lives!” she cried. “Father! you have kept 
your word, take what you will as your reward,” 
and she glanced at the jewels that adorned her 
neck and arms. But the wizard stirred not, his 
glance was riveted on the glass. Again she looked, 
Rodolph was still there, but, horror of horrors ! 
a monstrous lion, couched beneath a tree, was 
about to make his fatal spring on the unconscious 
warrior, intent only on breaking his way through 
the jungle. 

A shriek rang through the cavern, and echoed 
from gallery to gallery. 

“ Save him ! Save him !” she cried, falling on 
her knees before the wizard. 

But Azor stood motionless, and the lion quiv- 
ered with expectation, as his prey approached 
nearer and nearer. 

“Azor, he is so young to die!” 

“You alone can save him.” 

“How?” 

“ Renounce your crown forever.” 

“ I do !” An arrow pierced the lion’s heart, and 
the lion fell. 


144 


Marion Howard; or , 

Again Rosalind and her fawn stood upon the 
shore. “ When next you need me, you must sum- 
mon me,” said the magician ; “ I shall seek you no 
more. Three blows upon my door will bring me 
to you.” 

That night the troops of a mighty king sur- 
prised her castle, and Queen Rosalind fled away 
with her jewels, her maidens, and her fawn, and she 
reigned in the land no more. 

Three months passed by, three months of adver- 
sity, anguish, and incertitude, and though the Lady 
Rosalind recoiled in horror from the wizard and 
his cave, love prevailed, and once again she found 
herself before the magic mirror. 

It was the camp of the crusaders that she beheld, 
glorious in the setting sun, with its fair white tents, 
its waving banners, and stalwart warriors in gleam- 
ing corselets, hurrying to and fro. And there, in the 
shadow of his tent, upon a couch of leopard skins, 
lay Rodolph, locked in the deep slumber of a 
weary man. Long did Rosalind gaze upon the 
face so calm in sleep, every lineament of which was 
so deeply traced in her innermost soul. Of what 
is he dreaming? A smile flits across his features, 
and he murmurs, “ Rosalind.” Entranced, she 
turns to look at Azor, that this time, at least, he 
may participate in her joy; but the rock of his own 
cavern is not more immovable, and she turns from 
him to gaze again on Rodolph. The scene has 
changed ; a turbaned form hangs over the sleeper, 
a gleaming dagger quivers in the air, as the bead- 
like eyes of the assassin gloat over their victim. 


Trials and Triumphs . 145 

There is no time for words, she grasps Azor’s arm 
in anguish unspeakable. 

“ Your beauty !” he hisses. 

That night the Lady Rosalind lay upon her 
couch, raving in the delirium of a malignant fever. 
Her maidens fled, and the white fawn licked her 
mistress’ hand alone. An aged hermit found her, 
sick to death, but beneath his skilful hands she 
lived again, for misery and Rodolph. 

The evening sun is setting once again upon the 
billows, rolling ever onward in the restlessness of 
their power, and a woman, weird looking in her 
ugliness, knocks at the wizard’s door. It is Rosa- 
lind, but the brightness of her eye is dimmed, 
unsightly blotches mar the once fair cheek, the 
stately form is bowed as though with age, and a 
thick black veil floats behind in the place of the 
fairy tresses. Again she stands before the mirror, 
but when Azor would withdraw the curtain, she 
grasps his arm in fear. 

“ It is too late 1” he mutters, and Rodolph, bound 
hand and foot, lies before her in a dreary dungeon. 
No friend, no food, no gleam of heaven’s light, but 
darkness, manacles, starvation ! 

“ What will release him, Azor ?” 

“All you possess.” 

“ My jewels ?” 

“Not enough.” 

“ The miserable shelter I still call mine ?” 

“ More than that. That is not enough to ransom 
Rodolph from his deadliest enemy.” 

“ It is all I have.” 

13 


146 


Marion Howard ; or y 

“ It is not enough.” 

“ Alas ! I have nothing but my life besides !” 

The wizard laughed scornfully. “ Not yet, not 
yet,” he muttered. 

“And must he perish?” 

Azor pointed to the fawn. 

“I cannot! I cannot! O my mother!” 

“ Then Rodolph dies ; for four days he has not 
tasted food. He faints already; see!” and the mir- 
ror showed her Rodolph in a swoon. 

“ Last of my friends, adieu !” cried Rosalind, and 
the white fawn leaping into the air, as though 
struck by a sudden dart, licked her hand and died. 

Alone in the wide, dreary world, a beggar 
woman wends her way from door to door, and 
lives on the charity of strangers. But she is ever 
welcomed ; mothers pour their troubles into a sym- 
pathizing ear, while little children run in flocks to 
meet her. 

“ She is good as she is ugly,” says an old woman, 
gazing after her as she limps away from her door. 

“Aye cummer! and as wise as she is poor,” is 
the hearty response. “ Poor Rosalind is an angel 
in disguise !” 

“ What will you ?” asks the wizard, sternly, as 
three trembling knocks bring him to his threshold. 
“ Who are you ?” 

“All that remains of her that was once a 
queen. 

“Aha! my pretty Rosalind ! welcome!” and his 
cruel eyes shot fire. 

“ Where is Rodolph ?” 


147 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“ Come and see.” 

Even before the curtain was withdrawn, the roar 
of waves, the howling of the storm- wind, the peal- 
ing of thunder, and the hoarse cry of sailors in 
distress, broke upon her ear, and the murky glare 
of the red furnace revealed, in the depths of the 
mirror, black as night, a ship foundering in a tempest. 

“ There he is ! I see him plainly, struggling in 
the waves! O Azor ! Azor!” 

“And just nearing home,” cried the wizard; 
“two hours more would land him on our shores. 
Will you save him?” 

“Do you mock me?” cried Rosalind. “What 
have I that I have not given, for my life you 
spurn ? O, Azor ! be merciful, miserable as it is, 
take it for his !” 

“ Not yet ! not yet !” 

“ Then, Rodolph, adieu forever !” 

“You have yet the chief ornament of race. 
That which your ancestors vaunted more proudly 
than riches, rank, or power — your honor. Learn 
to be spurned as vile and outcast, and Rosalind 
shall ransom Rodolph.” 

“ Keep my integrity, and lose my name ?” 
“Keep what you will,” cried Azor, “though 
when you shall hear yourself branded and stigma- 
tized, what shall conscious innocence avail ?” 

“ Enough ; I submit. One day more, and then 
with Rodolph, all shall be forgotten !” 

A mocking laugh ran through the cavern, and 
the curtain fell. 

A gallant ship rides proudly into harbor, bearing 


148 


M avion Howard ; or y 


marks of a recent storm. A precious freight is hers ; 
jewels, spices, and stuffs from the far east, while 
many a knightly form bending over her bulwarks, 
hails with a tearful eye the land of his birth. 
Burgesses crowd around to deal with traders from 
afar; fair ladies gaze with rapture on their lords’ 
return, and churchmen flock to welcome the 
warriors of the cross. 

Decrepit, weary, clothed in rags, jostled by all, 
for poverty finds few friends, a woman passes 
through the crowd, and gazes, with a life’s history 
in her glance, upon the deck of the stalwart ship. 

“Thief! liar! witch!” burst from the idlers 
around, but she heeds them not; Rodolph alone 
fills ear, and eye, and heart, and the contumely 
of a few short moments matters nothing. 

“ Prithee, peace, good friends !” says a stout 
burgess ; “ this woman harmeth none. Faith !” 
he whispers beneath his breath ; “ but, by our 

Lady, she is wondrous ill-favored.” 

“ She is looking for her lord !” cry the crowd, in 
mockery. 

A form springs to land. Many are stately there, 
but no one steps forth like him ; many are fair to 
look on, but the glory of his martial beauty 
surpasses all. In an instant Rosalind has threaded 
the crowd, her hand is on his arm — Rodolph. 

He had seen her form from the vessel’s deck, 
and he knew her well, but he recoiled from her 
touch, and shuddered. 

A jeer rose from the crowd. “The lady has 
found her lord 1” 


Trials and Triumphs . 


149 


Alas ! poor souls, they knew not how the ran- 
dom arrow of their jest flew home. 

“ Rosalind, you are wondrous changed,” he 
muttered, “ but we will meet anon and as he 
passed on his way a troop of gallant knights 
and fair ladies followed in his train. 

“ Tis the great Baron Rodolph,” cried the 
crowd, falling back on all sides. 

“Witch! liar! thief!” again assailed her; but 
again she heard it not, nor quailed beneath the 
shower of missiles that fell around her. She 
turned away, and passed along the dreary shore, 
and though the dark night fell, and the winter 
w r ind swept across the sea, and howled around 
her like the voices of a hundred demons, still she 
passed onward, and Azor found a form rigid as 
marble lying across his threshold. He bore her 
through the vaulted gallery, and Rosalind awoke 
once more to life. 

He was gazing at her with folded arms, wdien 
she raised her head. 

“Where am I?” she asked; “where is Rodolph?” 
but the glare of the fiery eye recalled her to her- 
self, and she sprang shuddering to her feet. 

“Why do I find you at my door?” he asked. 
“For what have you come?” 

“To show you your work,” she cried, bitterly. 

“A masterpiece, truly!” was the only reply. 

“ Is this the comfort, this the solace, you pro- 
mised me w r hen first we met?” 

“What more will you — is not Rodolph safe?” 

“ He spurns me like the rest. He, for whom I 

13 * 


150 Marion Howard; or , 

have borne all, abandoned all ! My crown, my 
beauty, my reputation ! All that woman holds 
dearest ! O, Rodolph ! Rodolph !” 

“ Will you have revenge ?” 

u Not for a thousand worlds, faithless as he is ! 
But why should he spurn me ? Man, show me 
myself!” 

The mirror reflected a form, from which Rosa- 
lind shrank dismayed. 

There was a long silence, broken only by the 
roaring of the furnace, the bubbling of the cruci- 
ble, and the sullen roar of the sea without. 

“ Maiden,” said the wizard, at length, “ since you 
refuse my vengeance, will you call back his love? 
Shall I give you once again your crown, your 
beauty, your name, more lustrous than before? 
Shall even the white fawn come back from the 
land of shadows, to welcome the Rosalind of old, 
and shall Rodolph, loving and repentant, kneel 
once more at her feet?” 

“ Azor!” cried Rosalind, “ have you such power 
as this ? Who are you ?” 

“ Lucifer, the supreme ! Lucifer, the light-bearer 
to the benighted ! Lucifer, the refuge of the soul, 
weary, crushed ! Listen, sweet Rosalind, soon to 
be queen once more. Swear fealty to me, and all 
that I have promised shall be yours ;” and, terrific 
in his fallen grandeur, the prince of darkness stood 
unveiled before her. 

“Monster, depart!” cried Rosalind, with a shriek. 
“Think you, for Rodolph, I would lose my soul? 
Avaunt, in the name of God !” 


Trials and Triumphs . 


151 

A mighty convulsion shook the rock to its 
foundation, and the mirror flew in a thousand 
fragments. A shriek, echoing far and wide, broke 
from the baffled demon, as himself, his chamber, 
his dwarf, and the furnace, disappeared in a whirl- 
wind, and Rosalind lay panting and breathless on 
the black seashore alone. 

*1# 

«^x ^x *yx 

Far in the depths of an ancient forest, whose 
giant oaks had reared their proud forms for cen- 
turies untold, unmolested by the woodman’s axe, 
there stood a modest hut. Built of clay, and 
thatched with boughs, it gave but little shelter 
from the summer’s heat or winter’s cold ; and yet, 
within it dwelt a woman, high-born and young. 
The fruit of the forest was her summer’s food, 
while in the winter she wandered forth for charity, 
and husbanded her little store till spring. Rumor 
spoke of her wondrous wisdom and deep sanctity, 
and how, with tears and groans, she washed away 
the sins of her early days. And rumor spoke 
truth, for on her knees, until the very stones were 
worn, Rosalind wept over her rebellion to the 
decrees of Heaven. And yet there were times 
when earth would mingle with higher aspirations, 
and when forms once loved would glide from the 
spirit-land of the past; but Rosalind only bowed 
the lower in her devotion, until even Rodolph’s 
memory paled into a picture in the volume of the 
past; a name to be forgotten only in prayer. 

One day the gentle hermit wept even more 
bitterly than her wont, and though the evening 


* 5 * 


Mari on Howard ; or ; 


shadows lengthened in the grotto, the frugal meal 
lay still untouched. Six long years had passed 
since she stood before the ship from Palestine, but 
she watched not the flight of time. Devotion 
counts not years and seasons, and life was now only 
a short cold passage to a glorious home, through 
which she trod in haste. The ravages of sorrow 
and disease had passed, and, fair with the beauty of 
holiness, the Recluse of the Forest shone with a 
more hallowed beauty than Rosalind the Princess. 
Nearer, nearer through the forest, came the tramp 
of a horse’s hoof, but she heard it not, as she sat in 
the rude doorway of her tent, pondering the past in 
bitter self-humiliation, and a knight was kneeling at 
her feet, before she could drop her veil. 

“Rosalind! Rosalind!” he cried; “is it thus I 
find thee! sought through long years!” 

“ Hush !” said the Recluse ; “ Rosalind is dead !” 
That night a tall horseman, with a drooping 
plume, rode away beneath the green- wood trees. 
Rosalind had given up all things for Rodolph, but 
the Recluse gave up Rodolph for God. 

“ O, Joe !” cried Dora, “what a shame! Only 
fancy, just as we thought poor Rosalind was going 
to be happy, after all her troubles, to leave her in 
the wood in such a miserable manner. Why, I 
could make a story with a better ending than that 
myself.” 

“ What would you have done with her ?” 

“ I would have made her forgive her repentant 
over, who would have carried her away with him 


Trials and Triumphs . 


153 


on his coal-black horse into the world again. 
Then he should have killed the king who had 
taken her crown, and they should both have lived 
happily all their lives.” 

“And died at an old age, I suppose,” said Joe; 
“a very orthodox ending.” 

“Well, but Joe,” said Edie, “such a life as you 
have left Rosalind living in is, I must say, a very- 
gloomy termination to the story. Still,” she added, 
“ I think it ought to be something of the kind. 
Dora’s ending would have been more interesting, 
but the one in the tale is more just.” 

“Why?” asked Dora. 

“ Because Rosalind had committed a very great 
sin in consulting the magician, and she did not 
deserve to be happy.” 

“ But she repented,” cried Edie. 

“ Yes, I know she did, and so she ought. But 
mamma says stories have not a good moral in them 
when wicked actions go unpunished.” 

“Well, it seems so,” chimed in Emily, “that 
Dora and Edie have their own way. Rosalind was 
wretched when she did wrong, and happy when she 
repented. I like the story myself as it is.” 

“ O, Emily!” cried Dora, 

“I do ; not though perhaps in the same way that 
Edith does, for I think the story has really a happy 
ending. To me there is no life more delightful 
than a hermit’s.” 

“Except a gipsy’s,” said Joe, mischievously. 

“ O, that was only my fun, Joe ; a passing thou ght 
that ran through my mind on first finding myself 


1 54 


Marion Howard ; or, 

— *>• — 

in the wood. But the other is what I should really 
love.” And Emily’s cheek flushed. 

“ She has been reading the Fathers of the 
Desert lately, I guess,” cried Joe, with a comical 
look at Dora. 

At this moment the heads of Father Stirling and 

/ 

Mr. Darrell peeped around on either side of the 
tree. 

“ Have you been listening?” cried Emily, spring- 
ing to her feet. “ O Joe !” 

“ To be sure we have, for a long time, and have 
been much entertained by Joe’s powers as a story- 
teller.” 

“And even more by your various moralizations 
thereon,” said their father. 

“And what is your opinion of the tale, papa?” 
asked Emily. 

“Why, that its moral quite bears out the old pro- 
verb, that the ‘ Devil’s wheat is all chaff.’ But it is 
rather hard upon our sex. What say you, Father?” 

“ That it is a fair picture of the women of every 
age. Depend upon it, my dear sir, they set us an 
example in constancy and fortitude. There are 
not many men who would have endured one tithe 
of Rosalind’s privation for a woman, or who would 
have shrunk like her into patient fortitude under 
her crushing disappointment.” 

“I felt a drop of rain, I am sure,” cried Joe, 
suddenly springing up. 

He was right. The sky, which had been for 
some time growing gloomy, was now quite over- 
cast. And a general panic ensued. 


Trials arid Triumphs . 155 

“ It will be a thunder-storm, sir,” said Tom, 
“and a pretty tidy one. Look at the sky over 
there ; the wind is blowing the clouds up fast, 
sir.” 

“ We must get out of the Wood, then, at any 
rate,” said his master. “You had better, my dear,” 
he continued, turning to his wife, “all of you set 
off, as fast as you can, to the inn at the village of 
Ilcombe. It is half a mile at least, so you have no 
time to lose. These trees would be dangerous in 
a storm. Father Stirling, Tom, and myself, will 
follow with the carriage as soon as we can get the 
horses in. Are all the hampers packed ?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Tom. 

“Then Betsy can go too. Now, Joe, you must 
go with your mother, and do the best you can.” 

“ I wish Father Stirling would go, and let me 
drive his gig up. He would be of more use to 
them than I shall. Besides, if he catches cold he 
is sure to be ill, and I can stand a wetting.” 

“ Thank you, my boy, but I should be very 
sorry to trust you with old Rufus in a storm. He 
and I are old friends, and he knows he must obey. 
He knew me in more fiery days,” he added, half 
to himself. 

Notwithstanding the hurry they were in, it was 
a merry party that ran through the lane leading 
from Barnett’s Wood to Ilcombe, which, with its 
sharp-pointed spire, lay in a valley at their feet. It 
was a long half mile, but they arrived at last at the 
little inn, just as a peal of thunder growled in the 
distance. 


156 Marion Howard; or ) 

— 

It was a quiet, old-fashioned little house with a 
garden gay with flowers, and surrounded with 
clean white railings on one side, and a little farm- 
yard, with thatched stable and cow-houses on the 
other. A large tree shaded a horse-trough in 
front, by the side of which rose the sign-post, a 
wonderful work of art, executed by some village 
Raphael, and setting forth in all the glory of 
royalty his most gracious majesty, King William. 

“ Can we have a private room ?” asked Joe, 
stepping into the little sanded, red-curtained bar, 
and addressing a buxom landlady, glorious in red 
ribbons, and still redder cheeks. 

“ Well, sir, there be a gentleman who has been 
dining here, as has got the best parlor. He be a 
minister, sir, but I don’t suppose he’ll mind you. 
Any ways I’ll go and see, and I’ll be bound for it, 
if you don’t mind him, he’ll make no objections. 
He seems very civil and gentlemanlike.” 

“ O, stop, my dear!” cried Mrs. Darrell, from the 
doorway ; “ I should be very sorry to disturb the 
gentleman. You have nowhere else you could 
put us, I suppose ?” 

“ No, that I haven’t, ma’am.” 

“ Is there no other inn ?” 

“ No, ma’am, never a house will you find atween 
this and Higher Ilcombe. No, no; I’ll just step in 
and ask him ; it’s very likely he’ll be glad of com- 
pany hisself.” And the old lady bustled off. 

It was not long before she returned, followed by 
the gentleman in question. 

” I beg, madam,” he exclaimed, bowing to Mrs. 


i57 


Trials and Triumphs. 



Darrell, “ that you will not scruple to make use of 
the parlor I have been occupying for my dinner. 
It is, believe me, quite at your service. A very 
small corner of it will serve for my accommoda- 
tion,” he added, smiling. “ Our good landlady 
here is quite right in her surmises. I shall be 
very glad of company.” 

“Mr. Lisle! Mr. Lisle!” and Marion darted up 
the steps to the clergyman. 

“ Why, Marion, my child, this is a surprise !” 
And a shadow fell at once over the face so bright 
just before in the energy of kind politeness. 

“There is no need of an introduction now,” 
said Mrs. Darrell, smiling; “this is indeed a plea- 
sant rencontre for Marion.” 

The whole party followed the curate into the 
parlor of the little inn, and for some time a general 
conversation was carried on between Mr. Lisle and 
the elder ladies. But it soon began to flag, as 
fears for the absent gentlemen began to arise. 

“ It is very dark,” said Mr. Lisle, rising and 
walking to the window at the further side of the 
room, overlooking the little farmyard, “but I think 
it will hold up for a few minutes yet.” 

“ When it does begin there will be no mistaking 
it,” said Joe, who, with his mother and Miss Hor- 
ton, were stationed at the front window, in hopes 
of catching sight of the delayed vehicles. 

“ There are no signs of them yet,” said Mrs. 
Dcrrell; “they cannot, I am sure, escape the 
storm.” 

“ We must hope for the best,” replied Mrs. 

14 


Marion Howard ; or , 


153 

Seymour, moving towards the window, around 
which they all now stood, grouped in anxious 
expectation. 

Marion walked across the large room to Mr. 
Lisle, who still stood looking out into the farm- 
yard, where ducks, pigs, geese, and hens were 
indulging in a concert in disapprobation of the 
weather. 

Well, Golden-hair, and how have you been 
getting on ?” he asked, stroking the glossy curls. 

“Very well, indeed,” said Marion; “I am enjoy- 
ing myself very much. Have you seen mamma?” 
“ No, but I met Turner this morning, and she 
told me that Mrs. Howard left for London yester- 
day, and that she expects to remain there some 
time. And so you are very happy? Who are 
those little girls ?” 

“ Edie and Emily Darrell, and the other two are 
the Miss Seymours. Do you not think, Emily, 
the one by the side of Mrs. Darrell very pretty?” 

“ Remarkably so. I never remember to have 
seen a more perfect face. How old is she?” 

“ Thirteen. I am sure you would like her, she 
is so amiable and so full of fun. But Edie is my 
favorite.” 

“Why ?” 

“ Because she is so good and generous ; she 
never seems to think of herself in anything. She 
is very thoughtful, and talks very little, but when 
she does, it is always about something sensible.” 
“ I hope she does not talk of religion,” said the 
curate, with a glance that pierced her soul. 


1 59 


Trials and Triumphs . 

Marion recollected her secret about Puseyism, 
and began to feel uncomfortable. Suppose Mr. 
Lisle should find it out ! 

“ They all talk of religion very often,” she 
replied. “It seems to be the principal thought of 
their lives ; but they never try to convert me.” 

“ That is, they never, on any pretext, mention 
the subject to you ?” 

Marion paused. “Yes, they do sometimes, but 
only when I ask questions. That is, when I ask, 
why do they do such and such things.” 

“ And do you mean to tell me,” he asked, in a 
low tone, “that you, Marion Howard, ask ques- 
tions about Romanism ? Then take my advice, 
and leave off saying the Lord’s Prayer; for it is 
only mocking the Almighty to say, ‘ Lead us 
not into temptation,’ and then to go and thrust 
yourself in its way. You may just as well put 
your hand in the fire, and pray not to get 
burned. ‘ Come out from among them, and touch 
not the unclean thing.’ To think you should ever 
have come here ! I wish I could take you back 
with me !” 

“ Really I could not, Mr. Lisle. Mrs. Darrell 
would be offended. You cannot think how kind 
she is to me.” 

“Of course, I know you cannot go,” he replied, 
crossly. “ I only spoke of what I should like to 
do. O, Marion, you are endangering your soul !” 

The tone was so inexpressibly unhappy that 
Marion was really touched, though at the same 
time not a little vexed. 


160 Marion Howard; or , 

“Any one would think they were all trying 
to convert me,” she exclaimed, half pettishly. 

“And so they are; there is no doubt about 
that,” replied Mr. Lisle; “and your only safety 
lies in your obedience. Promise me not to say 
one word more about religion, and I shall be 
satisfied. Refuse to do this, and I will write to 
your mother the instant I get back to Ennington.” 
“But I like to talk about it just a little — 
especially to Miss Horton, that young lady dressed 
in black. She was a Protestant herself once.” 
Mr. Lisle was far too angry to speak. 

“ Mamma said I might go to church sometimes, 
just to see; so I am not disobedient when I go, 
and I have only been very few times as yet. And 
then this is generally — indeed, always except once 
— to the early Mass before breakfast on week-days, 
when there is no incense or music, nor anything 
grand, and I sit and read my Bible all the time. 
Surely there is no harm in that. How can I pro- 
mise not to talk of religion, and sit fancying some- 
thing very terrible, which, after all, is only very 
simple, as I did with the sign of the cross.” 
“You are an obstinate girl.” 

He spoke so angrily that Marion was really 
pained, and felt very much inclined to cry. 

“I am not obstinate, Mr. Lisle; and how can I 
be doing wrong, when I am only doing what 
mamma said I might? Besides, I know there is 
not one here who cares whether I am a Catholic 
or not.” 

Innocent falsehood ! Could she have heard the 


Trials and Triumphs . 161 

prayers that rose for her night and morning, 
she could not have said that. 

“ Father Stirling will be here directly. He is a 
very good man ; he is the priest of Harleyford. I 
am sure you would like him, Mr. Lisle, though he 
is a priest.” 

“ Stirling !” said the curate with a gasp. 

“Yes, Father Stirling. He is a Scotchman.” 

“A Scotchman!” 

At this moment a shout was heard from Joe, 
announcing the arrival of the carriages. Hardly 
had the gentlemen entered the room, before the 
rain commenced pouring down, while the artillery 
of heaven flashed and rolled in all the awful gran- 
deur of a terrific thunder-storm. 

11 * 




CHAPTER VIII. 



sooner bad the new-comers entered the room 
than Marion, the storm, the strangers sur- 


rounding him, were all forgotten by Mr. Lisle, 
who seemed absorbed in contemplating Father 
Stirling. His whole frame heaved convulsively, 
and his cheek, lately flushed by his conversation 
with the child, became ashy in its whiteness. 
“Just in time,” said Mr. Darrell ; “ what a flash !” 
All stood silent with awe, as a peal of thunder 
seemed to break over the house, shaking it to its 
foundations. Edie, pale and trembling, clung to her 
mother, and Dora hid her face in Miss Horton’s 
dress, sobbing with fear. It was certainly a fearful 
storm, and older people than Dora and Edie grew 
alarmed, as the flashes of forked lightning suc- 
ceeded each other in awful rapidity. 

“ Courage, my dear children,” said Father Stir- 
ling ; “remember that the danger surrounding us 
is not sent by the malevolence of man, or the wrath 
of evil spirits. It is God, our own Father, who 
directs every flash. Shall we not trust in Him ?” 
It was, at least, half an hour before the storm 
began to abate, during which time hardly a word 
was spoken. 

“ It is beginning to grow lighter now, I think,” 
162 


Trials and Triumphs . 163 

said the priest, at length, closing the breviary he had 
been reading. “ I wonder how it is at the back,” 
and, advancing as he spoke towards the other 
window, he perceived, for the first time, that they 
were not alone. 

No, they were not alone. In the sanded parlor 
of the village inn, for the first time for ten long 
years, Father Stirling met the son of his benefactor 
— met the man he had loved and cherished as a 
younger brother, and from whom he had been sepa- 
rated by estrangement worse than death. Ten years 
had worked their will on both ; had changed the 
stripling to a man, and matured the elder, even 
sprinkling his hair with gray, and yet, at the first 
glance each had recognized the other. For a 
moment not a word was spoken, till Father Stir- 
ling, recovering himself, advanced towards his early 
friend with outstretched hand. 

“ Flenry !” 

The arms remained folded, and save by the 
quivering of the mouth, the salutation was received 
unmoved. 

“ Henry,” repeated the priest, “ have you forgot- 
en me ?” 

It was too much ; the stiff arms unbent, and the 
hand of Father Stirling was wrung convulsively. 

At this juncture Mr. Darrell chanced to turn. 
“ Bless me !” he exclaimed to his wife, “ I had not 
the slightest idea that any one besides ourselves 
was in the room.” 

“Yes, Mr. Lisle, the curate of Ennington; he 
was exceedingly polite when he first came in, but 


Marion Howard ; or 9 


164 

the storm so confused me that I had quite forgot 
to introduce you,” and she related the circum- 
stances of their arrival at the King’s Head, 

“ Father Stirling knows Mr. Lisle, it seems,” said 
Marion ; “ how funny.” 

“ I was not aware of it either,” said Mrs. Darrell. 

“ I see nothing extraordinary, though, my dear,” 
observed her husband, “that two clergymen, resid- 
ing within nine miles of each other, should be 
acquainted.” 

Mr. Darrell was less wise than he imagined. The 
priest and the curate had been ignorant till this 
moment of each other’s vicinity. 

A light rain and a distant rumbling were all that 
now remained of the storm. Mr. Darrell en- 
deavored to raise the spirits of his little ladies, and 
so well succeeded, that Dora forgot her fears, Mar- 
ion her scolding from Mr. Lisle, and all were soon 
la ughing heartily over his droll tales. But amid 
the laughter of the picnic party a different kind of 
conversation was going on at the further end of 
the room. 

“And so we meet again,” said Father Stirling, 
after the short pause that had followed their first 
salutation — “ and so we meet again. O my friend, 
amid the changes and chances of ten long years, 
how have I prayed for this !” 

A sigh was the only answer. 

“ I have sometimes thought of writing to you,” 
he continued; “but the sight of a letter, long ago 
returned, and growing yellow in my desk, told me 
it would be of no avail. The memory, too, of a 


Trials and Triumphs . 165 

door closed behind me, as I turned from the house 
that had sheltered me from childhood, banished 
every idea of revisiting Scotland. But though 
absent, I have still known all. Believe me, Henry, 
during my ten years’ estrangement I have both 
mourned and rejoiced with you. With a sorrow 
that could only be exceeded by your own, did I 
mourn over your father’s death, my generous, 
noble-minded guardian. Boy of sixteen as you 
then were, you called me ungrateful, and that for 
following the dictates of my own conscience. You 
were young and angry, Henry, and time had not 
tried the purity of my motives ; but will you not 
give me credit now for having acted then, in con- 
formity with what I felt to be the Will of God ?” 
“ Misguided man !” 

“ Misguided ! — then, by God Himself! But we 
will talk no more of this. Mine has been a hard 
fate, but God’s holy Will be done. It is sad to see 
the grave close over prejudices unremoved.” 

“ You said just now that you had rejoiced as well 
as sorrowed with us since your departure : when 
was this ?” asked the curate. 

“When Agnes married.” 

“Indeed! who told you of her marriage?” 

“ Herself. Two days before, she wrote and told 
me all. Told me how the old affection had grown 
into a quiet sisterly remembrance, and how Frank 
Gordon had gradually taken the place of the com- 
panion of her childhood ; and none wrote to her, I 
know, a warmer, heartier letter of congratulation 
than George Stirling.” 


Marion Howard ; or> 


1 66 

“ She never told me this. Strange !” 

“ Search your own heart, and it will tell you 
why. Much as you had loved me as a boy, have 
you ever striven to close the breach in any way 
between your family and me ?” 

“Never! and while you bear the hated name of 
Romanist I never will. O, George, George ! to 
think that I should live to see you in that odious 
garb ! Stirling — the companion of my childish 
romps, the confidant of my later years, my elder 
brother a Roman Catholic priest! His fine mind 
degraded to the superstition of the Middle Ages, 
and his ingenuous character practising wiles from 
which the frankness of his boyish nature would 
have shrunk. What would his friendship avail me 
now? How can two hearts whose aims are devious 
know anything of unity? Can travellers north and 
south bear each other company, or vessels sail to 
opposite ports side by side ?” 

“Our roads are devious, I know; ought not our 
goal to be the same?” 

“ Yes, but it is not so. Mine is God, and you are 
travelling from Him. The monstrous Juggernaut 
of dogmatism and superstition, that man has 
created, hides the Essential Truth from you. You 
are like the Egyptians, wandering in the darkness 
caused by your own errors, while those of a purer 
faith bask in a more than summer light. George, 
do you remember my mother’s death? Do you 
remember how, with her dying breath, she prayed 
for you with her children ?” 

“ I do. I was thinking that you must have for- 


1 67 


Trials and Triumphs. 

gotten it. Perhaps at this very moment, in the land 
where the weary are at rest, she reads our hearts in 
the clearness of the beatific vision. Could souls in 
heaven weep, I believe she would be weeping now 
over such disunion.” 

“ Say, rather, over the errors of him she had 
loved and cherished as her own,” replied the curate. 
“ But do you mean to say that you believe that 
those who are out of the pale of the Romish Church 
can be saved ?” 

“Yes, if their ignorance is invincible; and who 
but God can read their hearts ?” 

There was a long silence. Both looked stead- 
fastly out of the window, and strangely into the 
past. 

“Well, Plenry,” said the priest at length, 
brightening up, “I am very glad indeed that we 
have met at last, although you are still so hard 
upon me ; but tell me how you came to be in 
such an out-of-the-way place as this ?” 

“ I have had a curacy at Ennington from the time 
of my ordination, three years ago, and I came here 
to-day on parish matters,” answered Mr. Lisle, 
coldly. 

u During the whole of which time I have been 
living at Idarleyford,” answered the priest. “Well, 
we know each other’s whereabouts now, thank God, 
and can often meet.” 

“Pardon me,” returned the curate; “we have 
been strangers for the last ten years, and as far as I 
am concerned, I prefer that we should remain 
such.” 


1 68 Marion Howard; or, 

“ Henry, is this resentment worthy of a Chris- 
tian ?” 

“ It is not resentment. Here is my hand to prove 
it to you ; and believe me, George Stirling, that 
above all men, yes, above every soul on earth, you 
have my pity, and shall have my prayers.” 

“ And must we part like this ? In the name of 
Him whose ministry we both profess, and who is 
the God of charity, why cannot the old friendship 
bind us still ?” 

“ Because I mistrust you, thoroughly mistrust 
you, Stirling ; I know that Romanists will counte- 
nance any means to work their ends. I have 
learned much in a few years, something even this 
afternoon, and that from a little one whose inno- 
cence and artlessness might have rendered her 
sacred in your eyes. But hear me, and I at least 
am candid ; be it the business of my life hencefor- 
ward, to circumvent the end and aim of yours , and 
such as you ; for while I have life and strength, 
never will I cease from the combat ! Adieu, and 
forever, unless you see the error of your ways, for 
then indeed shall David and Jonathan mingle, as of 
old. Good-by.” He held out his hand. 

“ Do minus tecum ,” said the priest, pressing it 
almost abstractedly ; and with a bow to the rest 
of the company, without so much as thinking 
again of Marion, Henry Lisle passed from the 
room, and was seen a few minutes later riding 
off through the restored sunshine towards En- 
nington. 

Marion looked after him, much surprised. 


Trials and Triumphs. 169 

“ Did you tell him about Eliza, my dear?” asked 
Mrs. Darrell. 

“ No ; I meant to do so, but we were talking of 
other things at first, and I was too frightened to 
think of anything during the storm. Then I could 
not go to him, of course, while he and Father 
Stirling were talking together ; but I thought he 
would have come and spoken to me before he 
went away. It is very strange he should go with- 
out even saying good-by to me. He seems much 
vexed about something ; I wonder what it is ?” 

“ I did not observe it.” 

“ Because you do not know him well enough, 
Mrs. Darrell, or else you would have seen that he 
was quite pale.” 

“ Perhaps Father Stirling has been trying to 
convert him,” exclaimed that lady, laughing, as 
the priest came slowly towards them. 

“ You are right,” he replied, sadly, “ though not 
perhaps in the sense you imagine.” 

“ Mr. Lisle seems a very gentlemanly man,” 
said Mrs. Darrell; “ have you known him long?” 
Unwittingly she had touched the vibrating chord 
too suddenly. A deep groan burst from the priest, 
and sinking into a chair he covered his face with 
his hand. 

“I shall be better presently,” he whispered, “but 
I do not feel well.” 

Miss Horton motioned the children from the 

* 

room, Mrs. Seymour and her daughters followed, 
under pretence of looking around the farm, and 

Father Stirling was left alone with his friends. 

15 


170 Marion Howard; or , 

“You are astonished at seeing me so strangely 
moved, I know,” said he at length; “but I will tell 
you all. It was Henry Lisle’s father who, when I 
was left an orphan, took me home and adopted me 
as his own. His was a bereaved household ; child 
after child had passed away in their infancy, and 
when I entered it, one little girl alone remained of 
a large family. After I had been with them two 
or three years Henry was born, and this boy and 
girl were all that Mr. and Mrs. Lisle ever reared. 
It would be impossible for me to describe to you 
the kindness of my self-constituted guardian, or 
the maternal affection lavished on me by his wife. 
Mr. Lisle was not rich, neither was I ; but he 
husbanded my little store, and partly from his 
own resources, partly from mine, he gave me a 
liberal education, and when I was old enough 
received me as a partner in the firm, of which he 
himself was the head. Things went on quietly 
enough until I reached the age of six-and-twenty, 
when, by events I need not now particularize, the 
whole current of my life became changed. A 
desire to dedicate myself to what I then considered 
the ministry took possession of me, and all in 
which I had hitherto taken an interest grew dis- 
tasteful to me. But there were ties, one in par- 
ticular, that bound me to my post, and I remained 
at it, the prey of many a mental conflict, for two 
long weary years, until, in a moment of impulse, 
I revealed my wish to Mr. Lisle. To my sur- 
prise, although he was a staunch Presbyterian, 
he thoroughly approved of the idea, and so 


Trials and Triumphs . 171 

smoothed the pecuniary difficulties that lay be- 
tween me and the wish of my heart, that within 
two months from that time I was at Oxford. I 
remained there two years ; you know the result. 
I returned to Scotland and told my adopted father 
all, and I shall never forget the scene. Early 
associations, old affections, all were forgotten ; he 
tried arguments, persuasions, even threats, but 
thank God, in vain. He told me I was disgracing 
him, that I had no right to bring distress upon a 
family with whom I was united by ties as strong 
as brotherhood. Henry, at that time a youth of 
sixteen, heard my determination apparently un- 
moved ; only I, who knew his disposition, under- 
stood his grief, as he stood motionless as a statue 
beside his father. ‘ Go/ said Mr. Lisle, as he held 
the door open ; ‘ go, and may God forgive you, for 
I never can.’ This was ten years ago. Mr. Lisle 
is dead, Henry is curate of Ennington, I priest of 
Harleyford. All are changed, or gone, or dead, 
except the bitterness and estrangement, and these 
remain still, for Henry Lisle refuses my friendship 
till I give up my God.” 

“I had no idea you were talking seriously,” 
said Mr. Darrell, as the priest concluded; “the 
children were making so much noise.” 

“ How very sad !” said Mrs. Darrell, with tears 
in her kind eyes. 

“Yes, I feel it just now; but it will soon pass 
away amid the pressure of daily cares and duties. 
Hard work leaves us but little time for brooding 

D 

over our troubles, and a good thing, too. Come, 


1 72 


Marion Howard ; or y 


the weather is beautiful now, suppose we go and 
order the carriages.” 

“ Suppose we have tea first,” said Mr. Darrell, 
ringing the bell; “I expect their fright has given 
our young people an appetite.” 

Mr. Darrell must have been right in his surmises, 
if the matter could be judged by the celerity with 
which the landlady’s bread and butter disappeared. 
Then came a walk around the farm and garden, 
out of which the good-natured hostess picked them 
a round red nosegay of country flowers — flowers 
that people loved in those old-fashioned days, when 
they would have been puzzled to spell rhododen- 
drons and fuchsias. Such a substantial bunch it 
was, that Emily’s fingers could not compass it, 
with its damask roses, London-pride, rockets, 
stocks, and ladies’ needlework, blending in rich if 
not harmonious coloring. 

“ Marion is to ride home in the gig,” said Emily. 

“ Will you tell me a story, Father Stirling ?” 
asked Marion. 

“ Tell her the one you told me, about the hermit, 
and the robber who turned saint,” suggested Emily. 

“ Does Marion like stories about the saints ?” 
asked Miss Horton. 

‘‘Of course she does,” replied Father Stirling; 
“ I hope we shall live to see her a saint herself one 
of these days.” 

“ I must be a Protestant one then,” said Marion, 
who began to think of her conversation with her 
pastor. 

Father Stirling and his little companion main- 


i73 


Trials and Triumphs . 

tained a profound silence for some time after they 
had started, he pursuing the gradual unfoldings of 
the last ten years, she thinking of Mr. Lisle, and 
whether he would fulfil his threat. 

“ Father Stirling,’’ she said, timidly, having at 
length determined to tell him her troubles. 

“ Yes, my child.” 

“ Mr. Lisle, the gentleman you were talking to, 
comes from the same place I do.” 

“ So I believe. I suppose you know him very 
well !” 

“Yes, I knew him for three years ; he has always 
taken a great deal of notice of me, and he speaks to 
me as he likes. But I think he is very unkind in 
something he said this afternoon. What do you 
think it was ?” 

“How can I possibly guess?” 

“ He said that unless I promised him faithfully 
not to speak to any one about .the Catholic religion 
during the rest of my visit, he would write to my 
mamma to-night.” 

“Did you promise?” 

“No, I did not. Mamma has confidence in me, 
and I think that is enough, for as I told him, 
it might even happen that I might make very 
silly mistakes for want of asking a little question. 
But I should not like him to write to mamma. Do 
you think he will ?” 

“ I am sure he will if he said so.” 

“ It seems to me so strange that people should 
be afraid of being converted,” said Marion, mus- 
ingly; “no one would be so silly as to join a reli- 


174 Marion Howard; or, 

gion they did not believe was made by God, and 
surely if God made it, everything in it will bear 
looking into.” 

“ Exactly so. Everything that comes from the 
hand of God will bear scrutiny ; therein lies the 
difference between His works and man. The more 
powerful the microscope, the more exquisite does 
the insect’s wing, otherwise insignificant, appear ; 
the mite becomes a monster of magnificent pro- 
portions, and a piece of mouldy cheese a forest of 
majestic plants. Take, on the other hand, the 
works of man. Beneath the lens the finest needle 
is a rough hewn pike, and a piece of dainty lawn 
becomes coarse as the coarsest canvass. So it is 
with the Church of God. The more you gaze into 
her innermost depths, the more you will be aston- 
ished at the glory, the holiness, the perfect beauty 
of the whole, while in its imitations made by man, 
disorder, confusion, disunion, meet the wearied eye 
on all sides. Fair, perhaps, may they be to the 
naked eye ; but failing, signally failing, beneath the 
all-revealing glass of Truth.” 

He had spoken more to himself than to Marion, 
and relapsed again into his own thoughts. After a 
few minutes, his reflections were again interrupted. 

“ Mr. Lisle is very good, but he is rather bigoted. 
Do you not think so, Father Stirling?” 

“Yes, very good, very bigoted.” 

“ Mamma is not so at all.” 

“ I am glad to hear it.” 

“ I do not think I shall ever be a Catholic,” 
pursued Marion ; “ but somehow I fancy I shall not 


i75 


Trials and Triumphs. 

always be what I am now. I do not think our 
religion is right in some things.” 

“You have as good a right to judge it as any 
one else,” said the priest, looking much amused. 

“ People must do what they think to be right,” 
continued the child. “ If mamma told me always 
to wear a blue dress, or a red one, I could do that 
easily to please her, however much I disliked it ; but 
if she told me to believe a red one blue, or a blue 
one red, it would be impossible. With regard to 
believing or disbelieving anything she wished, I 
could no more do that than I could see at this 
moment two horses before me instead of one. For 
religion cannot be what we wish or like ; it must 
be what it really is to us.” 

“Yes, but you know that there is such a thing 
as believing, and yet being ashamed to own our 
belief. Many people would be content that you 
should believe what you liked, if you would only 
keep it to yourself. But then this is really deny- 
ing God. Do you not think so ?” 

“Yes, of course, and then he will deny us. If I 
were to change'my religion though, mamma would 
not be my greatest dread.” 

“ Who, then ? Mr. Lisle ?” 

“No; though I should dread him more than 
mamma. I mean my brother Edward.” 

“Your brother! I thought you were an only 
child.” 

“ I am mamma’s only child, but I have a half- 
brother who has always lived in India. I really 
think, from all I have heard, that he is as good as 


176 Marion Howard', or, 

any one can be. He is coming to England some 
day, and I cannot think what he would say if he 
found Golden-hair a Puseyite, or anything else but 
the firm Protestant he thinks her.” 

“A Puseyite!” cried Father Stirling; “ why, 
whatever put that into your head?” 

“ O, myself,” replied the child, gravely; “ there 
seems too much in the Catholic Church, and not 
enough in ours, and so I have been thinking I 
should like to be a Puseyite.” 

“So much for private judgment,” cried the 
priest, laughing heartily. “ O, dear ! O, dear!” 
“What are you laughing at, Father Stirling?” 
The question was not answered, but there came 
instead a crash of a falling vehicle, the shriek of a 
child, the plunging of a frightened horse. When 
Mr. Darrell reached the spot Father Stirling was 
lying powerless, with a broken arm ; on a heap of 
stones, and unconscious near him, the warm blood 
trickling through her golden curls, lay Marion, 
white as a marble image. 

It was a melancholy party that wound up the 
drive of the Cedars, very different from that which 
had issued that morning from its gates. In com- 
pliance with his desire, (for the Darrells would fain 
have tended him at their home,) Father Stirling 
was left at the Presbytery, under the care of Mrs. 
Seymour, until her husband, the only medical man 
in the neighborhood, could arrive. 

“And then let him come to us,” cried Mrs. Dar- 
rell, as she pressed Marion, now conscious of bitter 
suffering, to her heart. 


i 7 7 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“ Don’t cry, Emily ; I shall soon be better. It 
does not bleed so fast now. I am afraid your 
dress will be spoiled, Mrs. Darrell.” 

“ What matter that, my darling?” and again they 
were silent. 

Hardly a moan escaped her as they carried her 
up stairs, and laid her in Edith’s little bed. With- 
out waiting for Mr. Seymour, Mrs. Darrell bathed 
the wound, which was a deep incision, and swathed 
the throbbing head with linen bands. 

“ It will not be much, I trust,” said Mr. Sey- 
mour; “she will soon be all right. I wish I could 
say as much for the Eather, but his is, I fear, a 
compound fracture. He must be in great pain, 
but all he seems to think of is, how he is to get a 
priest for Sunday.” 

“ I expect my brother on Saturday,” replied the 
lady. “ I will write to him, and ask him to come 
directly.” 

“Poor Father Stirling!” said a voice from the 
little bed. “ Do you think it was my falling on 
him that broke his arm ?” 

“ No, I do not think that you would have 
brushed a fly off him.” 

Marion tried to smile, but the attempt was very 
sickly. 

She was worse than they thought. The blow 
had been very severe, the weather trying, and the 
last few days full of excitement. Before morning 
she was quite delirious. Once more, too, the 
storm broke forth, and, roused from their sleep 
by the thunder, the twins arose and joined their 


1 78 


Marion Howard. 

mother in her sad vigil beside the little sufferer’s 
bed. 

‘‘Go to bed again, my dear children, you can do 
no good;” but they pleaded hard, and remained 
trembling at Marion’s strange words. Her mother, 
the thunder, Rosalind, and the Puseyites, were 
strangely jumbled; and then she talked of Father 
Stirling and Mr. Lisle, every now and then raising 
her hand to her aching head. 

“ I will send for her mother in the morning,” 
said Mrs. Darrell, who began to grow seriously 
alarmed. “I hope she has not started for London.” 

‘‘What a sad ending to our happy day!” 
exclaimed Emily. “ If we could only have fore- 
seen it !” 

“Ah! my child, in nothing has our Father in 
heaven more shown His love for us than in the 
thick veil He has cast over the future. Could we 
pierce this, we should never have a happy day.” 

“ What a vivid flash !” 

The thunder, like a peal of cannonade, rolled 
forth at the same moment, and then Marion grew 
even more excited. 

“What shall I do with her?” cried Mrs. Darrell. 

“ Come, Emily, let us pray for her,” whispered 
Edith. 

Side by side, unmoved amid the storm and the 
low moans of their little friend, the twins knelt 
before their altar, their rosaries in their hands, and 
before three decades had been offered to the Mater 
Dolorosa, the little sufferer lay asleep in Mrs. 
Darrell’s arms. 



CHAPTER IX. 


A 

j '-v 


« AN you give me Mrs. Howard’s address in 
London?” asked Mr. Lisle, as old Turner 
opened the street door in answer to his sum- 
^ mons. “ I called to ask it last night, but 
you were out.” 

“Yes, sir, I was; Mrs. Jones said she would 
mind the house a bit for me, while I ran out for 
two or three little odd things, and very sorry was I 
when I came back, to find as how you had your 
walk up for nothing. Will you step in, sir?” added 
the old woman, curtseying. 

“ No, I thank you ; I only want the address.” 

“ Dear me, now I come to think, my missus for- 
got to give it to me. But if you’ll step in a 
moment, sir, I’ll just run over and see if Miss Lei- 
cester has got it.” 

“Thank you, Turner,” said the clergyman, walk- 
ing in. “Who do you think I saw last night?” 
The old servant glanced up inquiringly. 

“Your little pet, Miss Marion.” 

“Did you, now! The Lord love her. And how 
is she ? if it’s not making too bold.” 

“ She looks very well, and says she is very happy. 
I had business at Ilcombe, and dined at the little 

179 


i8o Marion Howard ; or, 

inn there. While I was waiting for the storm to 
give over, a picnic party ran in for shelter, and 
among them was Miss Howard.” 

“ God bless her !” cried Turner, “ for she deserves 
it; indeed she do.” 

“Yes, she is a sweet child,” said the curate, 
tho ughtfully; “you must miss her very much.” 

“Miss her! Bless you, sir, but the house aint 
the same thing without her. Of course a lady like 
missus has got something better to do than to talk 
to the likes of an old woman like me ; and though 
Susan has a downright feeling heart, and is ready 
to do a hand’s turn for anybody, she has what I call 
a glumpy sort of way with her, and says very little 
to any one. Miss Marion seems to do one good 
just to look at her, and to hear her talking to her 
cat, and singing about the house, for she does sing 
beautiful. It is not much as I knows about such 
things, but it seems to m£ as that child is very 
clever. You should hear her talk French with her 
mamma; why she rattles on just as fast as the mis- 
sus herself, and she draws wonderful pretty pic- 
tures. Look at that pretty creature now a-hang- 
ing up by the side of the fireplace,” she added, 
pointing to a crayon head ; “ that’s all Miss Marion’s 
doing. O deary me ! she’s just what her poor 
• dear father was. He was a real gentleman.” 

“ I did not know you had lived with the family 
during Captain Howard’s lifetime. Sit down, 
Turner; see, I am making myself very comforta- 
ble,” and he threw himself back in the arm chair as 
he spoke. 


Trials and Triumphs . 1 8 1 

“I have lived with Mrs. Howard, sir, fourteen 
years come Martinmas. My poor dear husband 
had been a private in Captain Howard’s regiment, 
in his young days, before ever the Captain thought 
of going to India. They came from the same part 
of the country, don’t you see, and so Captain How- 
ard took a good bit of notice of him like, and took 
him for his servant. O, he was wonderful fond 
of him ! My poor man and me were a-keeping 
company when the master went away, and soon 
after we got married, and had a snug little place of 
our own near Portsmouth. But somehow or other 
things didn’t go so well with us at last, and when, 
just fifteen years after he had gone away, he heard 
the master had come back again and was going 
to settle down in England, nothing would serve 
Turner, but that he must go back and live with his 
old master. Well, sir, the long and short of it was, 
that we gave up our cottage and came over here 
to Ennington, where Captain Howard had just , 
bo ught this house. I was cook at first, until Miss 
Marion came — heaven bless her — and then I was 
nurse. And now missus keeps me like an old 
horse, to do what I can, which I’m afeard, sir, is 
very little. She gets more out of Susan’s big arm 

in one day, than my old withered stumps can do 

• • >) 
in six. 

“Ah! but you find head, Turner, do you see 
that?” 

“Well, sir, thank you, sir; but I suppose I have 
had some little experience in my day. It’s true 

that you can’t put new feet on old legs, as you do 
16 


182 


Marion Howard ; or ; 

with stockings, but at the same time* you can’t put 
old heads on young shoulders.” 

“ When did you lose your husband, Susan ?” 
“When missus lost hers, sir; master went out to 
India to see about his property out there, and to 
bring Master Edward to England.” 

“ That was his son by a former marriage, I 
believe ?” ' 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Go on ?” 

“Well, sir, as I was saying, he went out to India, 
and to please missus, who was nervous like about 
him, for he was subject to fits, my poor man went 
too. It’s a sad story, sir, and of course you know 
it. I went up with missus to see them off, and it 
was a sight of a ship they went in. But a storm 
came on after a bit, and the Ocean Queen, as they 
called her, struck upon a rock, and she went to the 
bottom of the sea. Only two men escaped, who 
got into a little boat and sailed about till they were 
picked up by a vessel coming home.” 

“Mrs. Howard and you may well be attached to 
each other; whatever your position as mistress and 
servant, you are own sisters in grief.” 

“She is very good to me,” said Turner, quietly. 
“Had you never any children?” 

“Yes, sir, a daughter.” 

There was something so altered in the voice that 
the clergyman started. Her tone in relating her 
story had been naturally mournful but there was 
a hollowness in this-' short response that made 
him regret the question. He remained silent. 


Trials and Triumphs . 183 

“ Yes, sir, I liad a daughter once, but whether I 
have one still, .God only knows. When we came 
to live here I was obliged to let her go to service 
in London. Well, sir, she went on very well, for I 
saw her when I went up to town with missus, and 
when my poor man died, she came to stay with me 
a bit while Mrs. Howard was stopping with her 
sister. But then she went back to her place, and I 
have never seen her since. She used to write and 
tell me how she was saving up money to take the 
old cottage again at Portsmouth, where she was to 
be a dress-maker, and I was to get a little by the 
garden. For you see, sir,” she added, lowering her 
voice, “ although I have been so long with missus, 
I do find it hard to get along with her sometimes, 
and in those days it was rather worse than it is 
now; for I was a little prudish like, and the missus 
was young and handsome, and Captain Howard — 
well, it’s not for me to say — but, any way, she 
liked her own way, and he had let her have it. 
And then young missuses and old servants don’t 
always agree, so I had a bit of a notion of leaving. 
But then the letters came fewer and fewer, and at 
last, one morning, I got a note from Lady Jane, her 
missus, telling me to come at once if I would 
save my child. I went, but I was too late. Eliza 
had already got married, and gone off with the 
valet, and from that moment to this I have never 
set eyes upon her. My poor, poor girl !” 

“ She will come back some day to you, you will 
see,” replied the curate, in a sympathizing tone. 

‘‘If it was only for this world, sir, I feel as 


184 Marion Howard ; or, 

though I could bear it, almost cheerful like ; but 
with such a sin as hers unrepented of, how can 
I hope to meet her in heaven ?” 

“ How do you know she is not repentant?” 

“ Would she not write to her old mother if she 
was ?” 

Mr. Lisle was silenced. 

At this moment a knock was heard at the outer 
door. Turner rose to open it. 

“ Is Mrs. Howard at home?” 

“ No, sir, she went to London yesterday.” 

“ What shall I do ?” exclaimed Mr. Darrell, for 
it was he. “ What is her address there ?” 

“She has forgot to leave it, sir; but if you will 
leave a message for her, I expect her back in a few 
days.” 

“A few days! It may be all over then.” 

“ All over !” exclaimed the old woman with a 
shriek, for the first time recognizing the speaker. 
“ Mr. Darrell, sir, is Miss Marion ill ?” 

“ She is, indeed ; in great danger, I fear.” 
“Come in, sir; come in, please do. O, Marion! 
my darling, my little one, that I was the first in all 
this world to nurse, to think of you dying away 
from your mother and old nursey!” 

“ But I trust in God that she may not die,” 
exclaimed Mr. Darrell, as he entered the parlor, 
where Mr. Lisle, who had overheard the conversa- 
tion, had risen from his seat in great alarm 
“ Excuse me, sir, but do I hear that Marion 
Howard is ill? She seemed so well last evening.” 
“In the midst of life we are in death,” replied 


Trials and Triumphs . 


185 


Mr. Darrell, and he described the accident and its 
consequences. 

“ Is Mr. Stirling in danger also, do you think ?” 
asked the curate so anxiously, that he seemed for 
the moment to have forgotten Marion. 

“ I trust not, but no one can hardly tell. Do 
you think,' ” he added, turning to the old woman, 
who was sobbing violently, “ that you could leave 
the house in charge of any one, and go back with 
me ? It would be a great comfort to Mrs. Darrell to 
have you.” 

“ To be sure I can. My fellow-servant is away 
for a holiday, but I will get a woman from the 
village, and be ready directly.” 

“And if you will permit me,” said Mr. Lisle, “I 
also will intrude myself upon you this afternoon. 
I shall not be able to rest till I know that this poor 
child is out of danger.” 

“ Come, by all means,” was the response. “ Per- 
haps in the meantime you may be able to ascertain 
Mrs. Howard’s address from some of her friends.” 

“I will go to Miss Leicester’s immediately,” said 
the curate, taking up his hat. 

It was a melancholy ride for Mr. Darrell, as he 
wended his way back, with the old servant by his 
side. A lovely morning had followed the storm, 
but both were too much absorbed in their own sad 
reflections to notice the beauties of nature. As 
Black Prince stopped before the lodge, a little boy, 
brown as a berry, but neat as a new pin, ran out to 
open the gate. 

“ What do you think of him ?” asked Mr. Dar- 


1 86 


Marion Hoiuard ; or , 

rell, looking at the old woman ; for, amid all his 
anxiety, he had not forgotten that at that very 
moment a mother was passing the threshold of a 
long lost child, and that the little chubby face was 
not an alien to the good soul beside him. “ Is he 
not fit to be a prince’s child ?” 

“Pretty cretur!” said the old woman, looking 
fondly after him, as he tripped into the lodge, 
where Eliza, who had caught sight of the coming 
vehicle, sat with her face buried in her hands. 

“At last! at last!” she muttered; “ O, my God, 
this is too much !” 

She had not expected her mother; the idea of 
her coming had not entered her mind, but she had 
recognized her instantly. 

“ O, mother!” she cried, with bitter tears, “I 
have sinned before Heaven and against thee, and 
am no more worthy to be called thy child.” 

Marion was still hardly sensible, though more 
tranquil. Mr. Lisle came and saw her, but left, 
unrecognized by word or glance. Towards even- 
ing consciousness returned, but found the little 
patient so exhausted that Mr. Seymour shook his 
head in reply to the anxious glances of Mrs. Dar- 
rell and old Turner. 

“Would you not tell her of her danger, Mr. 
Seymour?” asked Mrs. Darrell. 

“ I tremble to say yes, but I dare not say no,” 
replied the doctor ; “ this constitutes, my dear 

madam, the real pain of our profession. It is 
a hard thing to disturb the mind when the body is 
racked with suffering, but it is harder still to let the 


1 87 


Trials and Triumphs 

soul glide away in a moral lethargy into the pre- 
sence of its God. Speak to her as gently as you 
can.” 

He left to visit his other patient, who needed his 
services little less than did Marion. 

“You yourself would tell her, would you not?” 
asked Mrs. Darrell, appealing to the old nurse, 
whose good sense and gentle manners had already 
won her heart. 

“ Indeed, I would ma’am, it would be hard to 
lose her ; but, if she is to die, let her say at 
least, ‘ Lord Jesus, have mercy on my soul.’ I 
will go into the other room, you will feel freer like 
without me. O, deary, deary me, to think it should 
come to this !” and the poor old soul sobbed as 
though her heart would break. 

“ Marion,” said Mrs. Darrell, bending over her, 
“you are very ill; is there anything you would 
like?” 

“My Bible.” 

“ But, my dear child, you cannot see to read.” 

“ But nursey can read to me.” 

“Very well. Is there anything else?” 

“ I should like to see Mr. Lisle, but he is too far 
off.” 

“ He has been to see you, but he has gone again, 
love. Would you like to see Mr. Gardiner, the 
clergyman of the church near here ?” 

“Yes, please. Was I asleep when Mr. Lisle 
came ? I wish you had awakened me.” 

“Very well; so we will another time, he is 
coming again soon.” 


1 88 Marion Howard; or y 

There was a grand dinner party that night in 
Harleyford, and the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner 
were among the guests invited. The latter stood 
in her sylph-like dress before her cheval glass, 
directing her maid, who was putting certain finish- 
ing touches, while her husband fidgetted up and 
down the library, straightening the fingers of his 
gloves. The brougham was already at the door, 
the gray horse prancing until his harness jingled, 
as impatient as his master. 

“ A groom from Mr. Darrell’s, at the Cedars, is 
waiting to speak to you, sir, if you please.” 

“ Darrell ! The Cedars ! What on earth can he 
want with me?” 

“ If you please, sir,” said Tom, from the doorway; 
“ if you please, sir, a young lady who is stopping at 
the Cedars is dangerously ill, and my mistress says 
she would be glad if you come and see her at once. 
She would have written to you, but she could not 
leave Miss Howard when I came away, and the 
young ladies are too much shaken to hold a pen.” 
“But how is this? Is she not a Catholic?” 

“ No, sir; a Protestant.” 

“What is the matter?” asked Mrs. Gardiner, 
entering the room in full trim. 

“ A sick person, that I am afraid I must go and 
visit. How shall we manage, my dear?” 

“Who is it? Who is ill?” 

Mr. Gardiner explained. 

“ What is the matter with her ?” asked the lady, 
withdrawing herself from Tom’s vicinity. “ Is it a 
fever ?” 


Trials and Triumphs . 189 

“ No, ma’am ; she was thrown out of a gig last 
night, coming from a picnic. Both she and the 
gentleman who was driving her had a narrow 
escape with their lives.” 

“ Dear me !” said Mrs. Gardiner, who was a 
sharp little lady, and usually spoke in jerks. 
“ How dreadful ! Well, you will go the first thing 
to-morrow morning, I suppose, Adolphus.” 

Mr. Gardiner hesitated. “ Is there any immedi- 
ate danger, do you know ?” 

“ My mistress said, sir, that I was to ask you to 
come at once.” 

“ Impossible !” said the lady, under her breath, 
and puckering her forehead at her husband. 
“Why, we are awfully late now!” 

“ What can I do, my dear ?” asked the clergy- 
man, looking at his better half. “ The Cedars is 
not far.” 

“ The Cedars ! Why, it is not in your parish,” 
said his wife, quickly. 

“Yes it is,” answered Mr. Gardiner, shaking his 
head dolefully. “ I think I had better go. Tell 
your mistress I will be with her in a quarter of an 
hour. It is very unfortunate,” he added, as the 
door closed behind the servant, “but we must 
explain matters to Lady Harley. She cannot pos- 
sibly be offended.” 

“ I don’t know that ; we shall see.” 

“Why, Helen, what would you have me do?” he 
asked, almost deprecatingly. 

“ How can I tell you ?” she replied, shrugging 
her pretty shoulders still further out of her dress. 


Marion Howard ; or, 


190 

“ All I know is, that it is about one of the most 
aggravating things I ever heard of. If it had been 
one of your own parishioners ; but for one of these 
Catholic people — how intensely annoying !” 

“ What will you do, my dear ? We are only 
wasting time now.” 

“I don’t know; pull off my things and stop at 
home, I suppose;” and she began plucking angrily 
at her glove. “ O, don’t leave me alone !” she 
exclaimed, giving herself a sharp twist, as her hus- 
band approached with the idea of coaxing the 
spoiled beauty. “ Any one but you would have 
managed some way.” 

“You are very cross, Helen, I am sure. I am 
as sorry as you are; but what do you suppose 
people would say if I refuse to go ? It would be 
the town talk, especially among the Romanists and 
Dissenters.” 

“ Bother the Romanists and Dissenters !” 

“ The only way that I can see,” continued the 
reverend gentleman, without noticing the rejoin- 
der, “ will be for John to drive me at once to the 
Cedars, and then come back and bring you. You 
can take me up afterwards at the end of the lane. 
I will not stay an instant longer than I can help, 
and I am sure I shall be able to make it all right 
with her ladyship.” 

“ Well, pray, be as quick as you can. It looks 
so abominably stupid to be late at a dinner 
party.” 

Marion turned languidly on her pillow as her 
spiritual comforter entered the room, preceded by 


Trials and Triumphs. 


1 9i 


Mr. Darrell ; but he asked no questions, she was 
too ill to feel curious. 

Mr. Gardiner approached the bed, by the side of 
which Mrs. Darrell and the two girls were standing, 
while old Turner at some little distance, with her 
hands in her lap, looked the picture of silent 
despair. The clergyman just glanced at the mourn- 
ful group, and at the pale figure extended on the 
bed, and then opening his book commenced to 
read at once. 

“ ‘ Remember not, Lord — ’ ” 

“Stop a moment, sir, if you please!” exclaimed 
Mr. Darrell. “ If you will allow them to pass, my 
children will leave before you begin. Nor is there 
any reason, my dear, why you or I should remain,” 
he added, turning to his wife. “Turner, you will 
stay with Miss Marion.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the old woman, approaching the 
bed. 

“You will excuse us,” continued Mr. Darrell 
in answer to Mr. Gardiner’s look of astonishment; 
“ but you are aware, I have no doubt, that we are 
enjoined by our creed to abstain as much as 
possible from assisting at the religious worship of 
others.” 

Mr. Gardiner simply bowed, but he looked 
unutterable things, which he was in too great a 
hurry to express. 

“ ‘ Remember not, Lord,’ ” he once more com- 
menced, as the door closed. “ Have you anything 
you would like to say to me?” he asked, having 
arrived at that portion of his ritual where he was 


192 Marion Howard; or y 

enjoined to question the invalid with regard to his 
conscience, debts, and the arrangement of his 
worldly goods, etc. 

‘‘What did you say?” asked Marion, with the 
vacancy peculiar to extreme weakness. 

“ I asked you whether you would like to speak to 
me ?” 

“ What about ?” 

“ O, the affairs of your soul, or anything of that 
kind.” 

“ No, thank you,” said Marion. 

“You are very ill.” 

“Yes, I think I shall die.” 

The clergyman started. “ Do you not feel 
afraid ? are you prepared ? would you not like to 
live ?” 

“Just to see mamma,” replied the child; “that is 
all. I long to be in heaven with God and dear 
papa. Will you reach me that crucifix down, 
please ?” 

“What for?” 

“ I like to have it in my hand. When I think of 
all Christ suffered in dying on the cross for us, the 
pain of my head seems so much better.” 

“ You can have that when I am gone,” said the 
clergyman. “You had better attend tome now; 
I have been sent for to pray for you.” 

“Have you?” said Marion. “I didn’t know. 
Have you been here long?” 

The clergyman thought of his wife, and fidgetted. 

“ No, not very long. Then if you have nothing 
to say to me I will go on.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 193 

“ Please begin again, and I will listen and pray 
with you. I did not hear you reading at all. 
Nursey !” 

“Yes, darling.” 

Mr. Gardiner was in despair. 

“ Come and kneel here, and pray with us, too.” 
The old woman hid her head in the bedclothes 
to smother her sobs. 

“ Now I am ready,” said the child, folding her 
hands. “ Please go on,” and for the third time Mr. 
Gardiner recommenced the office of the visitation 
of the sick. 

“Thank you,” said Marion, when he had finished ; 
“ I like that very much, but I should like you to 
pray for me your own self better. Will you ?” 

The Rev. Adolphus Gardiner stood aghast ; he 
could about as easily have preached an extempo- 
raneous sermon. Besides, what would his wife 
say, and Lady Harley think ? And yet, how re- 
fuse ? 

“ Do you not think we have had talking enough 
for the present?” he asked. “You must not be 
excited too much, you know.” 

Marion only made large eyes at him. 

“ If I were to stay with you, though,” he con- 
tinued, “ I should only read to you some other 
prayers out of this book, for they are far more 
beautiful than any I could compose.” 

“Are they?” asked Marion. 

“Yes; if you like I will read one for a sick 
child. There,” said he, at the conclusion, with a 

deep sigh of relief at having done his duty, “ I 
17 


i 9 4 


Marion Howard ; or , 


think that will do for to-night. Go to sleep now, 
there’s a good child, and I will call and see you 
to-morrow. Will you pass me my hat if you 
please ?” 

Turner obeyed, and the physician of souls hur- 
ried off to join his wife. 

They were late, but all was excused on the plea 
of pastoral duties. Indeed, the story of the little 
girl and her accident, the request for the crucifix, 
and the “ wretched bigotry” of her popish friends, 
made quite an interesting little episode in the con- 
versation of the dinner table. 

Another night passed in anxious watching, and 
Marion was better. When Mr. Seymour announced 
that all danger was over, old Turner smiled again, 
and the twins danced in their glee, and said rosa- 
ries by the dozen in thanksgiving. When Mr. Lisle 
came again, the bandage had been replaced by a 
plaster, the curls smoothly arranged, and Marion 
almost looked herself again. She knew him now, 
and a look of deep gratitude smiled from the blue 
eyes, as he approached. 

“ Do you know that Father Stirling’s arm was 
broken at the same time I was hurt ?” 

A look of pain passed over the curate’s face. 
“Yes, poor fellow!” 

“ Will you go and see him ?” 

“No, not to-day. To-morrow, you know, will 
be Sunday, and I must go home to prepare. Dr. 
Stebbing is away, so I shall have to preach both 
morning and evening, and I have been so uneasy 
about you, that I have hardly thought about my 


Trials and Triumphs. 


*95 


sermon yet. If I do not go back soon, the people 
will go sermonless to-morrow, and you know that 
would never do.” 

Marion smiled. “ I shall go sermonless, I am 
afraid, for many Sundays.” 

“ I hope not ; no, the fever has left you now, and 
I trust you will soon get well. I met Mr. Sey- 
mour as I came, and he says you are going on 
very nicely.” 

“Did he say anything about Father Stirling?” 
“He says he is very ill; but,” added he, his 
generosity triumphing over his reluctance to praise 
him, especially to Marion, “as patient as an angel.” 
“Just what I should have thought,” said Marion. 
“Well, good-by, my child, for I must run away. 
Now, listen to me. Do not, for God’s sake, let 
them talk to you of religion. Marion, I would not 
deceive you ! However bright their religion may 
appear, believe me, it is false. Your own pure 
simple faith is truth; but you are so young, so 
impulsive, so easily impressed. O, would to God 
that you had never come here, where everything 
around you combines to make the great lie allur- 
ing ! Look at that little altar : pretty, I grant 
you, very pretty; but,” he added, lifting up the 
cloth as he spoke, “ what is it, after all ? A wooden 
table! Would that I could expose to you the 
worthlessness of their larger mummeries, as easily 
as I thus lay bare the legs of Mrs. Darrell’s altar.” 
He dropped the curtain as he spoke, and returned 
to Marion. “ Good-by, my child, till Monday.” 
He had not long left the house when a letter 


196 Marion Howard ; or , 

arrived from Mrs. Howard, telling Marion of her 
intention of bringing her the following week. She 
had little anticipated the tale of disaster she was to 
receive in reply, sad enough to a mother’s heart, 
even when softened by the exquisite tact and 
delicacy of Mary Darrell’s pen. 

“ Mrs. Darrell, I have been lying and thinking 
about one thing almost all the time you were at 
church,” said Marion to her kind hostess, as she 
sat beside her next day, while Turner went down 
stairs to her dinner. 

“ What is it, love ? Tell me.” 

“ Why, about Eliza. I do so want her to see 
her mother. I talked to nursey just a little about 
it this morning, to see what she thought.” 

“ And what did she say ?” 

“She thinks she is dead, or else ashamed to 
write. O, Mrs. Darrell ! will it not be a delightful 
thing to tell her? Sometimes I can hardly lie 
still for thinking of it!” 

“ Now, Marion, if you excite yourself you will 
be ill again.” 

“I will not, really, but just listen; dear Mrs. 
Darrell, don’t you think they might see each other 
this afternoon ? It would do more towards making 
me well again, than all the medicine Mr. Seymour 
could give me in a month.” 

“I shall tell Mr. Seymour how lightly you value 
his skill.” 

“ O, Mrs. Darrell ! I don’t mean that. I am 
very grateful to Mr. Seymour, for I think if he 
had not taken care of me, I should have died. 


Trials and Triumphs . 


197 


But I do so long to see Turner and Eliza to- 
gether.” 

“Very well, then, so it shall be. I will send 
Eliza in to see you, with her little boy ; that will 
be a good excuse. Now, remember, you promise 
to be calm.” 

“Yes,” said Marion; but she looked much the 
reverse. 

When Turner returned, Mrs. Darrell went down 
to her brother, who had arrived from Dublin only 
the day before, and to whom she was desirous 
of devoting as much of her time as possible. 
He had already said the two masses, and preached, 
and now had only a short time for a chat before 
the afternoon services. 

“This is not much of a holiday for you, Wil- 
liam,” observed his sister. 

“What! do you call this work? for shame 
of yourself, then !” exclaimed the good-natured 
Irishman. 

Turner was more than usually cheerful this 
afternoon. Marion was out of danger, and her 
mistress knew, or soon would know of the state 
of her little girl. “Shall I read to you, deary?” 
she asked, as she smoothed down her clean apron, 
and put on her spectacles. 

“ Presently, but I want to talk to you first, 
nursey ; I have been building castles in the air.” 

“What does that mean, child?” 

“ Why, fancying things, you know. I have been 
fancying Eliza coming back, and living in a pretty 

cottage, with a nice garden and two little children.” 
17 * 


198 Marion Howard; or } 

“ Laws, Miss Marion, what’s the use troubling 
that poor little head of yours with things what’s 
never likely to be ? I shall never see her any 
more, deary.” 

At this moment Emily entered on tiptoe. 

“ Marion,” she asked in a subdued voice, “ would 
you like to see the lodge-keeper? she has asked 
after you so often.” 

“ Very much ; please let her come.” 

In a few minutes Eliza entered the room, leading 
little Charlie, her eldest boy, by the hand. To 
meet her mother face to face was more than the 
poor thing could do, and she slipped around the 
bed in such a way as to place herself by her side. 
Turner, who was busy arranging the pillows, hardly 
noticed her, much to Marion’s disappointment ; and 
the poor woman stood trembling, after her first low 
salutation of the invalid, with her back half turned 
to her mother, trying to summon courage to throw 
herself into her arms. 

“ Come here, Charlie,” said Marion. “ Come 
here, and kiss this dear, kind old grannie.” 

It was a term Marion often used in fun to the 
old woman, who without noticing it, seated herself 
and took the chubby little rogue on her knee. 

“ Well, you are a pretty fellow!” she exclaimed, 
looking at him in unfeigned admiration. “ Do you 
know, Miss Marion, but his eyes is wonderful like 
my poor man’s ?” 

She did not observe, as Marion did, how convul- 
sively a pair of thin hands were pressed together 
beside her. 


l 99 


Trials and Triumphs . 

Many were the questions put by the old woman 
to the little prattler, for tire sake of hearing him 
talk. And all the time his mother kept her posi- 
tion, her eyes half averted, looking through the 
window into the tree-tops, and silent heavy tears 
falling one after the other upon the folded hands. 

“ He’s a dear litde fellow, and does credit to his 
mother, that he do,” exclaimed the old woman at 
length. “ He’s been well brought up. So much 
the better. ‘Train up a child in the way he should 
go, and when he is old he shall not depart from it.’ 
People should never spoil children. It is far easier, 
I know, to let them have their own way at the time ; 
but depend upon it, it’s better to be a little hard on 
young people, than to have them live to be hard 
upon you, as I know to my cost. Won’t you sit 
down, ma’am ? Go and fetch a chair for mammy, 
there’s a dear.” 

A convulsive sob echoed through the room, and 
in another moment Eliza was at her mother’s feet. 

“ Mother ! mother !” 

Reader, shall we describe it, or shall we draw a 
veil over the scene so like that jubilee of the angels 
rejoicing over the sinner doing penance ? 

“ My child ! my child ! now I can die happy !” 

*1/ «Jy ^ vl/ \L» 

/N /'JV /N /’N /Tv /tv /|v /|V 

“ Now, nursey, didn’t I tell you Eliza would come 
back again ?” cried Marion, emerging at last from 
under the bedclothes with very red eyes. “ Am I 
not a little prophet?” 

“Yes, that you are,” cried the woman, kissing 
her fondly ; “ but I tell you what it is, deary, we 


200 


Marion Howard ; or ; 


shall have you ill again, and that will never, never 
do.” 

“ The twins kept watch that evening beside the 
little invalid, and there was a very long talk at the 
lodge. That talk might have made one think of 
April weather, but there were more smiles than 
tears, more sunshine than showers, after all, gentle 
reader. 

Marion made rapid progress from this afternoon. 
Mrs. Howard arrived in great alarm on the Tues- 
day morning, but found her child much better than 
her fears had allowed her to anticipate ; and after 
spending a week or two at the Cedars, she found 
her sufficiently recovered to return with her to 
Ennington. 

It was with sincere pleasure that Mr. Lisle wel- 
comed Marion home, for he had trembled for her 
firmness. His kindness to her child completely 
obliterated from Mrs. Howard’s mind every trace 
of her own angry feelings towards him, and in a 
very short time, what in the beginning had been 
simply social intercourse between the curate and 
his parishioners, ripened into a deep and lasting 
friendship. In the expressive language of the 
Germans, Mr. Lisle became a “ house friend and 
now that little Marion was once more actually 
beneath his eye, he no longer feared for her ortho- 
doxy. He felt that she had been slightly touched 
by the dreaded evil, as he phrased it to himself, 
but finding that she resumed the even tenor of her 
old life apparently unaltered, he never spoke to her 
or her mother on the subject. Notwithstanding 


Trials and Triumphs . 


201 


Mrs. Howard’s “ religious horror,” Marion soon 
after became a district visitor, and Sunday-school 
teacher, and all traces of anything like a leaning 
towards Catholicism so entirely disappeared, that 
when, the next summer, the twins spent a day or 
two with Marion at Ennington, they returned quite 
disappointed to their mother, with the intelligence 
that Marion was quite, quite Protestant. 

“ God’s ways are not man’s ways,” said Father 
Stirling; “ Marion will be a Catholic yet.” 

“ If it had not been for the accident you and 
she met with, she might have been one now,” 
sighed Emily. 

“ Cannot the same God who willed the accident, 
will also her conversion in Plis own good time ?” 
asked the priest. 

Could they have read the heart of Marion, they 
would have seen the relics of more than one con-, 
versation lying secretly germinating in the depths 
of that little spirit, and calm, strange thoughts, 
growing with her growth, and strengthening with 
her strength, seeming to whisper even among the 
things she loved best in her religion, “ This is not 
thy rest.” 




CHAPTER X. 




X 

vfIVE years had passed since the visit to the 

i 

H!f Cedars, and it was the twilight of a December 
afternoon. Marion, still the bright-haired 
Marion of her childhood, was sitting musing 
over the fire in the snug little parlor at Ennington, 
all alone, for Mrs. Howard had not returned from 
a call on her old friend and adviser, Dr. Bernard. 
Snow had been falling lightly, and was lying fairy 
white on the garden paths and beds, but the 
fuchsias and geraniums stood up black and gaunt 
in their grim prison clothes, and everything looked 
cheerless in the winter mist. Marion had been 
watching at the window for her mother, enjoying 
the licensed idleness of the twilight; but she had 
grown so cold and sad withal, in thinking of fire- 
less homes and homeless little ones, that she was 
glad to shut out the dreary landscape. So she had 
drawn the crimson curtains, stirred the fire into a 
blaze, and pulling her mother’s stool before it, sat 
down thereon to dream. 

Many and varied thoughts passed through the 
busy little brain as she wandered back in spirit 
through the gradual unfoldings of the last five 
years. One could not have imagined they would 


202 


203 


Trials and Triumphs. 

have furnished much food for thought, and yet in 
her inner life, that life that lies so deep down in the 
nature of us all, was hidden many a little treasure- 
house, known to herself alone. First came her 
visit to the Cedars, with its shadowy remembrance 
of soul-stirring thoughts, warm hearts, bodily pain, 
and Father Stirling. Next, a summer spent at 
home, when the twins had visited her, and of which 
the distinguishing feature was the novelty of parish 
work, and the visits of Mr. Lisle. Then the two 
summers at the London school, and the holidays at 
her aunt’s, amid London sights, and sounds, and 
gayeties. These things passed through Marion’s 
mind, smiled at, or sighed over, as the case might 
be ; but it was over the last bright summer-tide 
that she really lingered — lingered in thought, until 
the fire burned almost down, and startled her with 
a rush of falling ashes ; and when it was replen- 
ished, and once more sparkled merrily, still she 
thought on, while Tyrza in her lap purred forth his 
very heart in a low complacent hum. She was a 
sweet little picture, in her dark merino dress, re- 
lieved by the daintiest of little collars, as the soft 
fire light flickered upon her rounded neck and 
glossy ringlets. But what thought is it that shines 
at this moment in the bright blue eye ? Has 
Golden-hair a secret? Crosses and candlesticks 
have been sinking lower and lower for a long time 
now, until the idea of them has almost faded, and 
she has lived to laugh merrily with even Mr. Lisle 
about her Puseyite notions. She is thoroughly 
“ Low-church now,” she says, and the old secret 


204 


Marion Howard ; or, 

is one no longer. Has she another? She could 
not tell you if she would, but there is something, 
sunny and shadowy by turns, rooted in her very 
nature, bound with her being for life or death, and 
yet unwhispered in the deepest recesses of her 
heart. She has changed, but she does not see it ; 
she acts with other aims, but she does not know 
it; she lives with another life, but she does not feel 
it ; for in all her thoughts and words and actions, 
Marion thinks and speaks and moves only in 
Henry Lisle. And yet she deems she values him 
as her mother’s friend, and would crimson to the 
temples, even in that lonely parlor, could she sus- 
pect the existence of an affection for which she 
would, in this very moment, lay down her life. 
Golden-hair is like the little flower of which the 
poet sings, she “must be wooed, and not unsought 
be won.” 

A knock at the door startled her from her 
reverie. 

“ There is mamma, at last,” she exclaimed, giving 
the fire an energetic stir, that a blaze might wel- 
come her. “ I wish tea was on the table,” but it 
was a very firm footfall that passed along the pas- 
sage, so firm, that the young girl stopped in her 
progress towards the door. It opened, and two 
minutes later, Marion Howard and the curate of 
Ennington were seated tete-a-tete before the fire. 

“And what has Golden-hair been doing all this 
dull afternoon ?” 

“Thinking and thinking here by myself, until I 
feel half stupid.” 


205 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“ I hope not,” said the gentleman, laughing ; “we 
could ill spare one of the wisest heads in Enning- 
ton.” 

“ I never thought before, you knew how to pay a 
compliment. I wish you would take mamma’s 
large chair and make yourself comfortable. Turner 
will bring in the lights directly.” 

“An event for which I am in no way anxious,” 
said Mr. Lisle, accepting her invitation to change 
his chair, and warming his hands ; “ you know my 
penchant for fire light.” 

“Yes, I like it very much. It is so dreamy.” 

“ It is, when one is alone, and can give one’s self 
up to its influence. On that account it is a dan- 
gerous luxury for young people, as is every- 
thing that helps to make them romantic and senti- 
mental.” 

“Are romance and sentiment dangerous, Mr. 
Lisle ?” 

“ I think so.” 

“I am sorry for that/' returned Marion, “because 
it really appears that our every-day business is the 
prose of life, and that the little flashes of sentiment 
that come to enliven even the dullest lives from 
time to time, constitute its poetry. Our existence 
would be hard and dry without them. But really, 
in these days, nothing that is not hard, dry and 
common sense, as it is called, is understood. And 
yet, as mamma says, let people call it romance, 
sentiment, ideality, or what they will, it is only the 
power of extracting the beautiful from the common- 
place, which God has given to every man if he 
13 


206 


Alcirion Howard ; or, 


will only use it, that people exclaim against. I 
know I seem to be talking nonsense, but,” she 
continued earnestly, “what I mean, I feel so deeply. 
Of course, Mr. Lisle, I know that mine is a very 
ordinary mind, and yet I should be sorry to pass 
through life without some appreciation of the 
exquisite harmony of all things in the world 
around us, that man calls beauty. How would our 
little home look, do you think, if the flowers were 
cleared out of the garden, and cabbages and pota- 
toes planted in their stead ? Yet that is just my 
idea of souls without sentiment.” 

“ And such it will remain, you obstinate little 
lady ; like most quiet people, it takes a world 
of power to make you alter your notions. My 
opinions are not perhaps quite as matter-of-fact as 
you imagine, but I have a horror of anything 
exaggerated, anything, for instance, like mysticism, 
which is almost fatal to the character, as enthusiasm 
is to religion. Simplicity is the touchstone to 
truth.” 

“Ah, now you are beyond me. I know no more 
about mysticism than Tyrza, but I cannot see why 
enthusiasm should be wrong in religion.” 

“ It is not in conformity with the meek and 
gentle spirit of the Gospel,” replied Mr. Lisle, 
“ which falls like light, silently irradiating all.” 

“ But the Spirit of God is fire,” said Marion, 
looking at him, “and once fell on man like the 
noise of a mighty rushing wind. Was not this 
something like enthusiasm? You will laugh at 
me again, I know, but I cannot help thinking 


207 


Trials and Triumphs . 

that when God took away Eden, he left some of 
its beautiful flowers behind, which they find in 
Eastern lands even now, and that when he pun- 
ished our race, he left one great impulse of fallen 
man, and that was enthusiasm. O ! Mr. Eisle, 
really, really this is the grandest thing in man’s 
whole nature, and it cannot be wrong to bring 
it into religion. Who can contemplate Gpd in 
his perfections, and not feel enthusiastic?” and 
Marion’s eyes kindled, and her lips trembled with 
excitement. 

“ You are a singular compound of simplicity and 
earnestness, Golden-hair. It is strange that you 
and I get on as well as we do together, for really 
we seldom agree.” 

“Mr. Lisle!” 

“ It is difficult to express to you exactly what I 
mean,” he replied, “ for it is only an opinion I have 
formed from little things you have said to me at 
various times, some of them even as a child. I 
remarked it, I remember, for the first time, in 
a chat we had together about five years ago in the 
churchyard, one Sunday evening. Do you re- 
member it?” 

“Yes, very well; but I am surprised that you do. 
You have a good memory.” 

“ For some things, yes — at any rate I remember 
our conversation on that evening very well, and the 
wish you then conveyed to me in your childish 
words, that religion had something in it more 
tangible.” 

“ I sometimes wish so still. I get lost in a 


2o8 Marion Howard ; or ; 

species of rapture when I contemplate the Hu- 
manity of Christ. His infant life, His childhood, 
His thirty years before His ministry, have a won- 
derful fascination for me; the more so, I sometimes 
think, from the veil drawn over them by Scripture. 
I wish we knew something of that silent life at 
Nazareth.” 

“ Marion,” said the curate, “ need I say more in 
answer to your question, asking in what way you 
mingle religion and imagination ? Are you not 
desiring to lay bare those things that Infinite Wis- 
dom has involved in shadow ? Be reasonable, my 
dear young friend, and be content with those fords 
and shallows through which the 'Sun of Ri ght- 
eousness’ plays on the ground beneath, or you 
will wander beyond your depth, and be carried 
away by the current. And that would break my 
heart.” 

The last words were spoken in an almost whisper, 
but they reached Marion, who lifted Tyrza again 
into her lap, and looked gravely into tlje fire. 

" Christmas is coming fast,” said the clergyman, 
cheerfully, not sorry to change the subject. 

“ Very.” 

"How are you going to spend it? Here, as 
usual ?” 

" Mamma is going to London, and she wants 
me to go with her. But somehow I would rather 
not.” 

“ Why ?” 

"Because, if we go, it will be to visit my Aunt 
Burrowes. She is very rich, and her daughters 


209 


Trials and Triumphs. 

are merry, dashing, fashionable girls, about my 
own age, rather what some people describe as 
‘ fast.’ Altogether, my life in London with them 
would be just the reverse of what I like. Even as 
a child, the excitement of my holidays was not 
altogether pleasure to me, but I expect that what 
then was only distasteful in London life, would be 
positive misery now. Of course I am ‘ out,’ and 
should be whirled off to operas, theatres, balls, 
parties, concerts and conversations, till the country 
girl’s brain would be in a perfect whirl. Besides, 
is it consistent to be engaged as I am, in district 
visiting and Sunday-school teaching at one time, 
and at another to be mingling in such constant 
dissipation, as I must, if I visit London with 
mamma ? It would be only for a few weeks I 
know, but that would be quite enough to unsettle 
me for a year.” 

“ By all means remain at home, then,” said the 
curate, anxiously. “ One season in London has 
been the narrow strait through which many a 
young and earnest soul has been hurried on to the 
great sea of worldliness, never again to find the 
bright haven of its childhood. O, Vanity Fair! 
Vanity Fair! what fearful victories it has won!” 

“ And yet there is one way in which I can escape 
it,” said Marion, “ and I think you will approve of 
it even less than my going to London.” 

“ What is that ?” 

“ I have another invitation, a previous one, that 
I could accept.” 

Why not do so, then?” asked the curate. 

18 * 


it 


210 


Marion Howard ; or ; 

Marion’s only answer was a very mischievous 
smile. 

“ Why should you not accept that invitation, 
Marion?” continued Mr. Lisle, looking puzzled. 

“So I can, only — Mr. Lisle, I cannot help laugh- 
ing, please don’t look so serious. Where do you 
think it is to?” 

“ How can I tell ?” 

“ To the Cedars !” 

Scylla and Charybdis ! The frying-pan and the 
fire ! Never was man on the horns of such a 
dilemma. 

“ Which invitation shall I accept?” asked Mar- 
ion, whose eyes were brimful of mischief, for she 
knew in what horror he held London society, 
while on the other hand, the Darrells — O what 
were they not ? 

“ I see no necessity for accepting either,” he 
returned, crossly; “stay at home.” 

“ What, all by myself? I did not think you 
were so cruel ?” 

“Are you sure Mrs. Howard is going?” 

“ Quite.” 

“And could you not really make yourself happy 
for a few weeks here, with your schools, and dis- 
trict, and books — and — ” 

“ My cat, I suppose, for that is all I have be- 
sides.” 

“ No, no, but seriously.” 

“ Seriously, I should be very miserable on Christ- 
mas day, with my roast-beef and plum-pudding all 
to myself. No, Mr. Lisle, it must be one or the 


Trials and Triumphs . 


2 1 1 


other, and the question resolves itself into whether 
I shall go to my aunt’s, or to the Cedars, — which 
shall I do ?” 

“ In plain words, do I advise you to run the risk 
of becoming a worldling, or a Romanist?” 

“ Neither one nor the other, I hope ; but I think a 
visit to Aunt Burrowes might really be a source of 
temptation to me, for I am naturally excitable ; but 
with regard to Romanism, having been once just a 
little bitten, I will take good care to keep myself 
out of harm’s way. 'Un chat echaude craint dealt 
chaude ! ” 

“ Well, I am sorry to say, it is a'matter on which 
I cannot advise you. I suppose when you have 
made up your mind which invitation you will 
accept, you will tell me. You are very wilful!” 

“ I do not see it,” she replied, this time very 
seriously, for she saw that he was pained. “ I have 
so much confidence in you,” she continued, “that 
I would follow your advice if it only entailed a dull 
Christmas for myself; but we must not offend my 
aunt, which I certainly should do were I to refuse 
her invitation without a sufficient reason. I cannot 
tell you how much I shrink from the bustle and 
gayety of her house, while at Mrs. Darrell’s I will 
be almost as quiet as at home. I am older now — 
I should hope, wiser — and protected by my little 
black book, what can I fear?” 

“That little black book! Marion, you little 
know to whom that once belonged.” 

She looked at him with a strange little creeping 
at her heart. 


212 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“Shall I tell you an o’er true tale?” he asked. 
“ Long, long ago, I had a friend, whom I loved as 
dearly as my own life ” — he paused, more affected 
than Marion had ever seen him. 

“ Never mind, Mr. Lisle, it pains you to tell me, 
I can see.” 

“ It does ; still I would rather tell you, for some- 
how there is a kind of consolation in thinking of 
days that were very happy, even when they are 
gone forever. When I think of our childhood, 
passed in the same home, of our deep affection, 
and still more, when I remember the tie that was 
to have united -us, I feel — but let us not talk of 
that,” and he paused again. 

“ Did she die ?” asked Marion. 

“ She ! who ?” 

“The lady you are speaking of,” said Marion, 
who felt very strange. 

“ I was not speaking of any lady, Golden-hair,” 
exclaimed the curate, an exulting twinge running 
through every fibre, notwithstanding his emotion, 
“ but of an orphan boy many years older than 
myself, who was to have married my sister Agnes.” 

It was very strange that the tables should have 
been turned so soon, but it is a fact that the tears 
came into Golden-hair’s eyes, just as the curate 
beean to smile like a sunbeam. 

“And did he die?” she asked, her confusion per- 
mitting no further attempt at originality than con- 
sisted in changing the gender of her nominative. 

“ Would to God he had, while clothed in his 
‘Robe of Righteousness.’ No; he went to Oxford, 


Trials and Triumphs . 


213 


and then, just as he was about to return, rich in 
honors, to those waiting so impatiently at home, he 
went to hear a Romanist preacher. From that 
moment, intellect, love, gratitude, honor, all lay 
prostrate at the feet of the Moloch of Superstition. 
He became a Papist. He gave up my father’s pro- 
tection, my sister, my own long-tried brotherhood. 
And for what? To follow a cold, heartless system 
he does not believe. At last, separated from all 
that he had loved, he put the finishing stroke to his 
isolation, and cutting himself off irrevocably from 
human love and human ties, he became a priest.” 
“And have you ever seen him since?” 

“Once, in your presence, I met George Stir- 
ling, after ten years’ separation, in the little inn at 
Ilcombe.” 

“ Mr. Lisle ! Was Father Stirling your old com- 
panion ?” 

“ He was.” 

“And you never saw him until the day you met 
at Ilcombe, when he and I were afterwards so 
nearly killed in driving home ?” 

“Never; nor have I seen him since.” 

“And my little Bible really belonged to him? 
Who could have imagined it!” 

“Yes, it was my sister’s gift to him in happier 
days. I found it among some books and papers 
he had left behind, and knowing that he had no 
further use for the Word of God, retained it. Did 
you never notice the initials, ‘ From A. L. to G. S/ 
on the fly-leaf?” 

“ Often, and wondered what they meant.” 


214 


Marion Howard ; or, 

Both were silent. Marion dared not speak her 
thoughts, but her remembrance of Father Stirling 
was still so vivid, that she felt persuaded that 
however he might have been misguided, he was at 
least sincere, and sympathized with him, notwith- 
standing Mr. Lisle’s description of his heartless- 
ness, far more than that gentleman would in any 
way have approved. 

“ Do you not think it was a sacrifice to him to 
give up all those he loved ?” she asked. 

“ I suppose so, unless he had grown quite un- 
natural.” 

Mr. Lisle knew nothing of the supernatural. 
One eye alone had witnessed the early conflicts of 
the Oxonian, as he turned from home, respect, and 
error, to solitude, contempt, and God. 

“ Father Stirling !” ejaculated Marion again and 
again. ‘‘You and Father Stirling early friends! 
Who could have thought it !” 

At this moment Turner entered with the lights, 
and Mr. Lisle rose to take his leave. 

“Will you not stay to tea?” asked Marion. “I 
expect mamma in directly.” 

“ Not this evening, thank you. I am engaged 
to meet Dr. Stebbing on business for an hour 
or two.” 

“ You understand my position now, do you not ?” 
asked Marion, as Turner closed the door. “You 
will not be vexed with me in your own mind, 
for you see I cannot do as you would have me.” 

A slight pressure of the hand he held was the 
only response to the question. 


215 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“ I wish I could follow you everywhere, Golden- 
hair, to shield you from every breath of error.” 

“ As a guardian angel ?” she asked, looking up 
into his face. 

“ Little Riddle !” thou ght he, as he once more 
took his way through the darkening street. “ But 
how could she read what I have been so anxious 
to conceal? Sweet little Golden-hair!” and the 
curate walked on briskly through the snow. 

“ Mamma,” said Marion, later in the evening, “ I 
think, if you do not mind it, I should rather go to 
the Cedars than my aunt’s.” 

“ Of course, my dear, I should like to have you 
with me; but do just as you please.” 

“ Well, for one thing, you see, mamma; it would 
be a saving of expense if I went to Harleyford, for 
I must have so many things if I go to London ; 
and then I am only eighteen, and I hardly feel old 
enough for a gay life yet.” 

“ Well, Marion, just as you like; please yourself, 
and you will please me.” 

“ Then I will go to the Cedars, for the Darrells 
have asked me so often, and they are such good, 
kind people. How tenderly Mrs. Darrell nursed 
me after my accident !” 

“Very well, then, suppose you write at once, 
and accept the invitation. You will, at any rate, 
keep Christmas in right old English style.” 

“ What will Mr. Lisle do without us ?” asked 
Marion. “ He has dined with us for the last two 
or three Christmas days.” 

“ Go to the Doctor’s, perhaps ; at least, I hope 


210 


Marion Howard ; or , 


so. If I thought he would be alone and dull, I 
should be very sorry, for he seems to me almost 
like my own son now.” 

That night Mr. Lisle sat in his bachelor parlor all 
alone, in a very discontented mood. Never had 
he felt so disinclined to get his own slippers, make 
his own tea, and keep his own company. His meal 
was a very dull one, and soon dispatched. Then 
he looked at his writing-desk, but it was too much 
trouble to get it; he took up a book, but dubbed 
it detestably dry : certainly the reverend gentleman 
was very difficult to please. He looked around his 
little room, he did not know why, but never had it 
looked so half swept, half dusted, half arranged. 
Perhaps he was mentally comparing it with another, 
in the comfort of which he had not long since 
basked. At last, tired of doing nothing, he seated 
himself on a chair before the fire, put his legs one 
over the other, and lighted a cigar. The discom- 
forted brow grew smooth once more, under the 
influence of the “ fragrant weed,” and a pleased 
expression stole over his wearied face, as he con- 
jured up many a pretty vision in the graceful 
wreaths of smoke that curled lightly above his 
head. By the time his cigar had burned out his 
fire had burned down, and the chilly air began to 
creep in through the shaking old window frames. 
But a very sunny smile was on the curate’s face, 
for a very bright hope was in his heart. 

“Yes, I think she may be trusted even at the 
Cedars now,” he muttered ; “ and when she returns, 
things will be more settled with me, and I will 


Trials and Triumphs . 2 1 7 


speak to her.” After which cabalistic speech he 
took up his candle, and dreamed that night of a 
living half promised him in the south. And a very 
strange dream it was, too, for he thought the 
mistress of the new parsonage was sweet little 
Golden-hair. 


19 




CHAPTER XI. 

"0, Chrisimas is a merry time, 

When old and young together join; 

Then let our hearts with rapture glow, 

Xor mind the nipping frost or snow.” 

OyO sang Joe Darrell, as he sprang down the 
stairs, three at a time, to go and bring Marion 
yj from Ennington the morning before Christ- 
J mas Eve. 

“ Good-by, girls !” he exclaimed, peeping in at 
the dining-room door, where his sisters and Dora 
Seymour were busy with their decorations. “Any 
final commands? I am off to Ennington. ’’ 

“ What a cold ride you will have,” said Edith. 

“ Marion will, I am afraid ; as for me, I am cast 
iron ; nothing hurts me. A pretty fellow I should 
be for a gale at sea, if I couldn’t stand a nip from 
Jack Erost.” 

“You will take care of Marion, won’t you?” 
asked Emily. “ Wrap her up well.” 

“Trust me for that; I have had the buffalo robe, 
and I don’t know what besides, put into the trap on 
purpose for her.” 

“You are a dear old fellow, Joe; be as quick 
back as you can, I am anxious to see her. I won- 
der if is she is as pretty as she bade fair to be,” and 
218 


219 


Trials and Triumphs . 

Emily, the same merry little spirit as of old, trip- 
ped back to her decorations. 

“When does Joe’s ship start?” asked Dora. 

“ In about a month,” said Emily, with a sigh. 

“ And how long will it be before he comes back 
again ?” 

“ The same time as before, three years.” 

“ He must have seen a great alteration in you 
and Emily.” 

“ In Edith, because she is so tall, but not much 
in me.” 

“You are certainly not very big, even now,” 
returned Dora, smiling at the diminutive fairy-like 
figure beside her. 

“Little and good,” said Emily. “You know 
the old saying, that precious things are always in 
small parcels?” 

“How old are you, Emily? I always forget.” 

“We are sweet seventeen ; a year younger than 
you and Marion, and two years younger than the 
majestic Jessie.” 

“ What a shame, Emmy !” cried Miss Seymour. 
“Whoever put it into your head to give me such a 
title as that?” 

“ Because you look so dark and queen-like, with 
that red camelia that Joe fastened in your hair.” 

“ Silly boy !” exclaimed Jessie, taking it out and 
throwing it on the table. “ I had forgotten all 
about it.” 

The words were carelessly, almost haughtily, 
spoken, but a few minutes afterwards the red 
camelia had disappeared from the table, and that 


220 


Marion Howard ; or, 

night one very like it stood in a glass on Jessie 
Seymour’s toilet, and received a vast amount of 
attention. 

“Jessie is very handsome,” said Edith, as Emily 
and Miss Seymour passed into the hall. 

“ I can well imagine that some persons find her 
so. For my own part, I consider Emily very 
much prettier.” 

“One can hardly compare them,” replied Edith; 
“ they are as different as red and white roses.” 

“ They are both very good, I think,” said Dora. 
“ As for Emily, she is almost my idea of a little 
saint.” 

“ Is she, Dora ? Most persons think her so 
merry and full of fun. Jessie told me the other 
day that she had hardly ever seen her serious in 
her life.” 

“Jessie went too far there, as she often does. 
Papa used to call her Miss Hyperbole, when she 
was a child. I should like to know who could say 
her face was anything but serious in church. Did 
you ever watch her?” 

“ Very often.” 

“ What do you think I sometimes fancy ?” 

“ What ?” 

“That Emily will be a nun. I have thought so 
for a long time — ever since she was about fourteen 
years old.” 

“ Suppose I tell you that I have felt certain of it 
ever since she was a child.” 

“ Have you really, Edith ?” 

“Yes; and I expect every day to hear her say, 


221 


Trials and Triumphs. 

*’ Let me go into a convent/ Mind, I betray no 
confidence in saying this, for we have never in our 
lives mentioned this subject. I sometimes fancy 
that mamma thinks so.” 

“ And how would you like it ?” 

“ O, Dora, if it were not that God, who calls her, 
will send us strength to bear the parting, I think I 
should die. I cannot realize such a thing, try as I 
will.” 

“ Do you think she would enter our convent — I 
mean that one where we were at school ?” 

“No; I believe from many things, she would 
choose a strict order, a cloistered one probably.” 
“Impossible, Edith, with her disposition.” 

“Well, we shall see. If Father Stirling could 
speak, he could surprise us, I have little doubt.” 
“Apropos of Father Stirling, Edie, how pleased 
he will be to see Marion again ; though, poor man, 
his recollections of her visit cannot be altogether 
pleasant.” 

“ You mean on account of his accident.” 

“Yes; how patiently he bore it through, but 
he was a whole year without saying Mass. Papa 
says he must have suffered dreadfully, the bone was 
so splintered.” 

“ I believe he would rejoice in any suffering,” 
replied Edith, “ thinking it brought him nearer to 
our Blessed Lord. But the girls are calling us, 
they are going to papa’s study. Come.” 

It was a very cold ride from Ennington to the 
Cedars, but the wrappers were so warm, and Joe 
such a merry companion, that Marion scarcely 
19 * 


222 


Marion Howard ; or ; 

felt it. Besides, cold as it was, it was certainly very 
pleasant. Black Prince seemed in a thoroughly 
Christmas humor, and the dog-cart bowled smoothly 
over the frozen ground, by the side of which boys 
were sliding in the gutters, and old men toiling 
homewards under shining loads of holly. Christ- 
mas shone in every face, echoed in every voice, 
and beamed in the cottage lights, that now began 
to twinkle like stars around them. The very stage- 
coach that passed was piled mountain high with 
hampers of Christmas presents, and the merry 
faces of expected visitors, of home returning wan- 
derers, smiled through the windows, or glanced 
down jollily from the roof. 

“ Now this is what I thoroughly enjoy,” cried 
Joe, as with a light touch of his whip he sent 
Black Prince careering on in a full gallop. “ I 
sadly miss all this at sea.” 

'‘But you like sea life, do you not?” asked 
Marion. 

“ I should think I do !” replied her companion 
enthusiastically; “why England itself is a prison- 
house, after the broad Atlantic ! Depend upon it, a 
sailor’s life is the only true liberty in the world.” 

“ Now, do you know, Joe, it seems to me quite 
the reverse. You cannot walk on the water, and I 
should feel dreadfully cramped up in the narrow 
limits of a ship’s wooden walls, which, after all, 
broad as is the Atlantic you sail over, is all you 
have to roam about in. London is a large place, 
but if a man was shut up in Newgate, he would not 
be much the better for its size, even though lie was 


Trials and Triumphs . 223 

permitted to peep as often as he liked through the 
windows. I can never bear to think of the sea. I 
suppose because poor dear papa was drowned in a 
voyage out to India, and poor Turner’s husband, 
too. By-the-by, how is dear old nursey?” 

“As bright as a ninepence, if you know what 
a degree of perfection that implies. They are get- 
ting on very well ; Eliza goes out making vanities 
for the ladies, Mrs. Turner minds the lodge, and 
the elder lad is errand-boy to a chemist in the 
town.” 

“ I am so glad. I missed Turner dreadfully 
at first, but I am pleased she went to you ; it 
is much better for her to be with her daughter.” 
“There is one thing about them will hardly 
please you, I am afraid ; but perhaps I had better 
not tell you, though I don’t know — I think I will 
leave it for the girls.” 

“ No — tell me now, Joe, please.” 

“ Well, Eliza has become a Catholic, and is 
bringing up both her children as such.” 

“ Is it possible !” cried Marion. “ What does old 
Turner say ?” 

“ She was very much put out of the way at first, 
it seems, but Father Stirling talked her into a good 
temper, and though she still sticks to the Metho- 
dists and the Rev. Howler Growler, or whatever 
you call him, (for Mr. Gardiner’s ideas were so 
elevated that they took away the old soul’s breath,) 
she says that Eliza certainly has a right to please 
herself.” 

“ Well, I suppose she has, but I am very sorry.” 


224 


Marion Howard ; or, 


“ Are you ?” said Joe. “I don’t think you look 
so very. Now, Marion, don’t say bigoted things, 
for I have always quoted you as the most respect- 
able little heretic I ever knew. You used to be a 
jolly little thing when you were a child; I hope 
you haven’t changed. As far as face goes, I see 
no alteration at all. You have grown into a 
woman, with the same bright face and sunny curls 
you used to have five years ago and the young 
midshipman gazed at his companion in unfeigned 
admiration. 

At this moment they reached the lodge gate, 
and the next, Marion’s hand was seized and 
smothered in old Turner’s kisses. 

“Miss Marion! Miss Marion! my own blessed 
child ! how old nursey has longed to see you !’’ 
“That will do, that will do, Turner!” cried Joe, 
laughing. “Black Prince won’t stand; he wants 
his supper. Come to the house, and you shall eat 
Miss Marion up if you like. See ! here’s a shilling 
each for the youngsters to keep Christmas with. 
Now, old fellow, go ahead.” 

“ What a pretty couple they do make, to be 
sure !” said the old woman, looking after them ; 
“ but there’s one in store for her better nor even 
him. Poor fellow ! I hope he won’t get to like 
her, for it’s clear to me (and her mother too, I 
think) as another has her heart, leastways, he had 
it six months ago. And they do say, too, as how 
Miss Jessie Seymour is wonderful set on Mr. Joe; 
but one can hardly say, young folks changes so in 
a little time. Bless me ! if that isn’t four o’clock 


225 


Trials and Triumphs . 

striking! I shall have Eliza here directly, and I 
haven’t got a cup of tea ready for her yet, and it’s 
very certain she’ll want it to warm her, poor dear, 
for it do be bitter cold.” 

“ Does not this look like old times ?” asked Mr. 
Darrell, as he gazed around the cheerful tea-table. 
“ We only want Father Stirling and Miss Horton.” 
“ Both of whom will, I trust, be with us on 
Christmas day,” replied Mrs. Darrell. 

“You think a great deal of Christmas, do you 
not. Mrs. Darrell ?” asked Marion. 

“ Yes, my dear, I do indeed. If it were possible, 
I would have the grate taken out of the dining- 
room, and have the fire on the hearth in true old 
English style. The fire-place was evidently in- 
tended originally for that, but it was altered when 
the house was modernized.” 

“ O, mamma, how delightful that would be !” 
cried Emily. “ I should like to keep Christmas 
quite in the old way, like Squire Bracebridge in 
the Sketch Book.” 

“ Well, I do not know that I quite agree with 
you,” replied her father. “ I cannot but think that 
a modern Christmas, with its refined and quiet 
amusements, is preferable to the boisterous mirth 
and noisy games with which our forefathers cele- 
brated it in ‘ the good old times/” 

“ But, papa,” said Edith, “ they were good old 
times in one sense, when they were Catholic.” 
“Yes, Edie — but it is too bad to introduce the 
subject of religion now; look at our little Protest- 
ant, how straight she is looking down her nose.” 


Marion Howard ; or f 


226 

“ Who, I, Mr. Darrell? No, I was only thinking 
I should like to ask you a question,” said Marion. 

“ Do, my dear; I hope it will not be too deep for 
me, but you look so profound that I feel rather 
nervous.” 

“ It is simply this. If you believe our religion to 
be the true one, how can you account for England, 
one of the most, if not the most Protestant nation 
being at the same time the queen of all others ? — for 
you do admit that she is this, I suppose ?” 

“ Undoubtedly I do, and prosperous with an 
unrivalled prosperity! Why, Marion, I am a 
thorough-going John Bull — as English as I am 
Catholic! I believe there neither is, nor ever was, 
a nation in any way approaching her.” 

“And is not this a strange reward of error?” 
“Ah, my child, here we differ; suppose I tell 
you that I believe England’s prosperity to be the 
reward of her Catholicity?” 

“ Mr, Darrell, why England is thoroughly Pro- 
testant ! No one can deny that. Protestantism 
is not only established by law, but it is the univer- 
sal sentiment of her people.” 

“ Hardly that, my dear, in a country numbering 
as many Catholics as this. But we will not quarrel 
about trifles ; England is undoubtedly a Protestant 
nation, I will say Protestant to the backbone, for 
the sake of argument, if you like.” 

“Then what did you mean just now?” 

“ Simply this. Whatever England may be now, 
in these her days of heresy, there was a time, when, 
above all other lands, she bore the sweet titles of 


22 7 


Trials and Triumphs. 

the ‘ Isle of Saints/ and the *' Dowry of Mary.’ The 
Church cannot err, but individually her pastors 
may grow faithless, and her people stray from their 
allegiance. Satan was an angel, Judas an apostle, 
Luther a monk. England, like the Israel of old, 
fell from her high estate, and God punished her 
through her most vulnerable part, her Church. 
Protestantism fell on her like a blight, and hid the 
ancient faith. P"or how long this punishment was 
adjudged to her we know not — there are those who 
believe that the term of God’s anger is drawing to 
a close — we cannot say. But with this, our dread- 
ful punishment, the wrath of God seems to have 
been appeased, perhaps propitiated by the prayers 
ot her who pleaded for her ‘ Dowry.’ He laid not 
His hand on the worldly prosperity of the land, 
that had once done such great and glorious things 
in His name, and sent Him so many great and glo- 
rious saints to heaven. No, Marion, my child, while 
the Catholic sees the names of a St. Alban, St. 
Cuthbert, St. Neot, St. Dunstan, St. Wulstan, St. 
John of Beverley, of the royal Edward and the 
patriotic St. Thomas, inscribed on the pages of 
England’s history, he at least will never marvel 
at the existence, nor question the source of her 
prosperity.” 

Marion smiled. “I dare say yours would be a 
very satisfactory solution to my question, to one 
who believed in the intercession of saints,” she 
remarked. “ But tell me, Mr. Darrell, do you seri- 
ously believe^ that England will ever be Catholic 
again ?” 


228 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“ I do.” 

“ And yet you see what a strong hold Protest- 
antism has on the hearts of English people.” 

“ Pardon me; it is just because I see that it 
neither has, nor ever had, any real hold on them, 
that I think so.” 

Marion looked down with a look even more com- 
passionate than incredulous. 

“ If you could only know, Mr. Darrell!” 

“ Know what?” 

“The great work Protestantism is doing. We 
had a French minister preaching at Ennington, a 
little time since. He spoke most beautifully in his 
broken English of the Church of England, and 
grew so enthusiastic as he spoke of Protestantism 
in Prance. It is making rapid strides there, he 
said, while Catholics themselves must see that their 
religion is losing its hold upon the French nation 
every day. Do you not think so ? I ask, because I 
really want to know what you think.” 

“ Certainly not. No one who knows France as 
she is, with her faithful family of priests, her monks, 
her nuns (especially her devoted band of Sisters of 
Charity), can for one moment imagine it. No one 
who sees, as I have seen, marble tablets of grati- 
tude covering almost the entire walls of more than 
one of her churches, the crowded congregations, the 
numerous communions at every Mass, could for an 
instant say such a thing. I grant you, at first sight 
the irreligion of France shocks an Englishman, be 
he Catholic or Protestant, with her vile literature, 
her desecrated Sundays her many sins and scan- 


229 


Trials and Triumphs . 

dais; but at the core, France, with all her faults, 
is truly Catholic still. And even if this were 
not so, do you think the ardent temperament that 
had rejected our religion would embrace yours ? 
A mighty convulsion once shook France to her 
foundations, bringing madness and infidelity in its 
train, but all the artillery of hell combined, could 
never make her Protestant. Remember, I know 
both London and Paris well ; mark the difference. 
In London the Catholic churches are rich, even 
elegant, well supported, wonderfully multiplied 
within the last years, and wonderfully multiplying 
still; English in their priests, their congregations, 
and their style generally. They are objects of 
curiosity to those outside the Church, are crowded 
at every service by large congregations, and are 
visited by strangers of every denomination. In 
social conversation, in the pulpit, on the platform, 
in the press, the progress of the Catholic religion 
in England is the one unfailing topic that is can- 
vassed by every shade of opinion. Now for French 
Protestantism. In Paris one occasionally meets 
with a French Protestant church, but what is it 
like? Ill-conducted, ill-sustained, ill-attended, ex- 
citing a little contempt from both Catholic and 
sceptic, and still less curiosity. A few well-built 
churches have been erected by the English for 
themselves, with English chaplains and services, 
but these have nothing to do with any form of 
French Protestantism, as they are supported by the 
Anglican Establishment. I can prove to you that 

Catholicity is spreading in England, by pointing to 
20 


230 


Marion Howard ; or, 

zealous converts clay by day swelling its ranks, to 
its hierarchy, to its growing power, to its literature, 
to the Catholic spirit that is beginning to pervade 

even Protestant society. Can you show any similar 
signs of the spread of Protestantism in France ?” 
“ Not at this moment, Mr. Darrell, except that 
the clergyman I just mentioned, said at a public 
meeting that it was spreading. He really was a 
very nice man. He pleased the Ennington people 
so much, that he made a very good collection after 
the sermon.” 

“What for?” asked Joe. 

“To buy Bibles with.” 

“ I see ; do you intend that as a proof of the 
spread of Protestantism in France?” asked Mr. 
Darrell, mischievously. 

“Now, papa, that is too bad,” cried Emily; 
“remember Marion is unsupported.” 

“ And yet, I think if we were to retrace our 
conversation, you would find that it was Marion 
who first threw down the gauntlet.” 

“ I dare say I did, Mr. Darrell, for I like to 
know what reasons Catholics give for things, even 
while I cannot agree with them.” 

The fact was, Marion disliked controversy far 
less than either she or Henry Lisle imagined, or 
she would not have found herself located at the 
Cedars, with so little opposition on the part of her 
spiritual pastor and master. 

“While the girls are at Mass T will run down 
and see old Turner,” said Marion to her kind 
hostess, the next morning after breakfast. 


Trials and Triumphs . 2 - 1 

“ Do so, my dear; the old soul will be quite 
fidgety till she sees you. You must not stay too 
long, though, for Joe wants to take you all to see 
some skating on the other side of Harleyford.” 

“I will get ready at once,” cried Marion, jump- 
ing up. “ Is not Mass later than when I was here 
before ?” 

“Yes, dear, it is always at nine in the winter. 
It is inconvenient for us, but Father Stirling finds 
that it suits the generality of his congregation 
better than an earlier Mass, so he does not mind 
fasting a little longer to accommodate them.” 

“Fasting! What do they want him to fast for, 
poor man?” 

Mrs. Darrell laughed one of her own musical 
Irish laughs. “ O, they have nothing to do with 
that, Marion, but a priest cannot eat or drink 
anything before he says his Mass.” 

“Why not?” 

“Do you not know what the Mass is? or, rather, 
I should say, do you not know what we believe the 
Mass to be ?” 

“Yes; a solemn service, the most solemn service 
of your Church.” 

“Your answer is right as far as it goes,” replied 
Mrs. Darrell. “ But I must not stop to chat with 
you now, for Betsy never fancies the Christmas 
dinner complete unless I literally have a ‘ finger in 
the pie ;’ but if you will remind me at some time, 
I will tell you what we really believe. I like 
you to understand, even while you criticise our 
religion.” 


232 


Marion Howard ; or y 


Marion kissed the sweet, motherly face, and 
tripped off to the lodge. 

44 O, Miss Marion! I did think you never were 
a-coming! I felt quite disappointed like, when I 
saw the young ladies go out without you, till I 
began to think, perhaps, you were coming to see 
me instead. 

44 Why, of course, I was coming to see you,” 
said Marion, kissing her reproachfully. 44 Well, 
nursey, so you are really happy now ! Where is 
Eliza?” 

44 Gone to her work, and Ben has gone to see the 
skating, so I am hero all alone, with nothing to do- 
but to sit still and look at you. How well you are 
looking, to be sure! And how’s missis, and Mr. 
Lisle, and the doctor. 

Marion’s answers appeared highly satisfactory to 
the old lady, and an animated conversation ensued 
concerning all the sayings and doings in Ennington 
for the last six months. 

44 And so Eliza is a Catholic?” said Marion. 

The old woman nodded her head, and peeped 
into a saucepan simmering on the fire. 

44 Yes, deary, she be,” she replied at last, slowly 
resuming her seat. 44 Yes, she be, and though 
I felt dreadful about it at first, for it seemed like 
losing her twice, yet somehow or other, I have got 
used to it, and I should be almost sorry to see her 
turn back again now.” 

44 O, nursey, how wrong of you! why?” 

44 Because, do you see, Miss Marion, whatever 
her religion is, it comforts her, and to a poor 


Trials and Triumphs . 233 

thing like her, that has been knocked about from 
pillar to post, till her heart was almost broke, 
of course that is the chief thing. ‘ Liza,’ says 
I, at first, ‘ why can’t you worship God as you 
have been always taught ; what do you want more 
nor your Bible, and your Saviour, to take you 
to heaven ?’ Well, Miss Marion, I know I spoke 
cross, for my temper was up, and I was riled at 
the idea of her being a papisher. But she an- 
swered me so quiet-like, that I felt quite ashamed. 
She was a long time trying to explain her religion 
to me ; but that, you see, wasn’t no manner of use. 
I will let her be what she likes, and let her make 
her boys what she likes, and I’ll be very civil to 
the priest when he calls, for really, Miss Marion, 
he do be one of the nicest gentlemen I ever saw ; 
but I won’t change my religion for anybody ! I 
have lived by my Bible, and gone through all 
my troubles with it, and with God’s help, I’ll die 
by it. I know I’m a sinner, but I trust to God’s 
mercy through Christ, and that’s all I know, and 
all I care to know.” 

“ It must make you very dull, to see Eliza pray- 
ing to the Virgin Mary, and all that sort of thing?” 

“ Well, it used to do, deary; but I’ve got over it. 
I am sure she’s got real religion in her heart, so I 
don’t seem so much to care, though I do think 
there’s a good bit of nonsense mixed up with it, I 
must say. I did feel queer when I first see little 
Benny fumbling them beads. O, deary me, Miss 
Marion, what use can they be?” 

“ Well I think the rosary one of the few beauti- 

20 * 


234 


Alar ion Howard ; or, 

ful things in their religion. I was much struck 
with it, I know, the last time I was here ; I forget 
what they are now, but I remember at the time I 
thought the meditations beautiful.” 

“Did you, though? Well, of course you know 
best; it’s all Greek to me together. To please 
Liza I went to church with her once, but I couldn’t 
get on no how. But it doesn’t much matter, deary; 
when we get to heaven we shan’t quarrel as to 
which road w r e came by, though people do make 
a mortal deal of fuss about it here below.” 

“ You go to the Methodist chapel, I hear, now?” 
“Yes, I do; for as for that Mr. Gardiner, God 
forgive me! but I can't abear him. Only to think 
of him alongside of dear Mr. Lisle, or the doctor !” 
“ Well, nursey, you know he came to see me 
once or twice when I was ill, and though I tried 
hard to like him, I thought him a most dis- 
agreeable man, especially for a clergyman.” 

“ They say he only became a minister for this 
living, which they didn’t want to go out of the 
family. It w r as in his father’s gift, I think they 
call it ; they say, too, it was his wife’s money as 
made him marry her. But he has paid dearly for 
it, for, if what people says is true, he daresn't call 
his soul his own, poor man. Mr. Gardiner met me 
the other day,” continued Turner, “and at first he 
w r as going to pass me by, though I made my best 
courtesy; but all on a sudden he recollected who I 
was, and didn’t he just give it to me! First about 
Liza, and then about going with the Methodists. 
He told me / ought to be ashamed of myself.” 


Trials and Triumphs. 


235 


“ And what did you say ?” 

“ I spoke to him civil like, at first, and said as 
how Liza must do as she liked, and said I found 
the Methodist ways better for me somehow ; but 
when he still spoke so rude to me, I fired up, and 
told him a piece of my mind. It isn’t because a 
body is poor they are to be treated like that, you 
know, deary.” 

“Of course not,” said Marion. 

“If you had only seen Mr. Joe, when I told him 
what I had said to Mr. Gardiner. He laughed till 
it seemed as though his sides would crack. O, he 
do be a right merry young gentleman, do Mr. Joe ! 
But here comes the young ladies, deary,” and as 
she spoke, two bright faces, fresh as rosebuds in 
the frosty air, peeped in at the lodge door 

“ Father Stirling told us to remember him to you 
most kindly,” said Emily, as Marion walked up the 
drive between the twins, “ but he says he is afraid 
he shall not have the pleasure of seeing you before 
to-morrow at dinner; he is so busy just now with 
the poor.’ 

“ Poor Father Stirling !” said Marion gently, as, 
conjured up by his name, a flood of recollections 
passed through her mind. Childish recollections, 
though mingled with them was the shadow of a 
sad tale recently told. Strange fatality ! had Henry 
Lisle striven to enlist her sympathy on behalf of 
the priest, he could not have done so more effectu- 
ally, than by the history of their bygone and shat- 
tered friendship. 



CHAPTER XII. 


o 


e 

V i J 

ej 


F the home of the Darrells, when gay with 
summer flowers, and surrounded by lawns and 
leafy trees, was beautiful, it was hardly less so 
in its pure white mantle of snow. Then the 
giant oaks, whose verdant honors had fallen and 
budded so many times, stood erect in their brumal 
stiffness ; the magnificent cedars, that gave the 
estate its name, bowed even lower beneath their 
crystal load ; the little brooks around suspended 
their gushing melody, and their banks and all things 
else around were covered with a network of nature’s 
pearls. It was a charming winter picture, when the 
sunshine, cold and bright, fell on the unsullied sur- 
face of the snow; but even more beautiful, when 
the full moon cast her light and shadow on the 
scene. 

“ Emily, it is fairy land !” said Marion, who on 
crossing the hall, about ten o’clock on Christmas 
eve, had found Joe and his sister looking out upon 
the night from the garden floor. “ It is fairy land !” 
she repeated ; “ I never saw anything so lovely !” 

“ How would you like a walk ?” asked Joe. 

“Above all things; are you and Emily going for 
one?” 

236 


Trials and Triumphs. 


2 37 


“ We were talking of it,” said the latter, looking 
at her brother. 

“ O, I see !” said the sensitive little Golden-hair, 
shrinking back. “ I should be de trop .” 

“No, darling; you would not indeed, but — ” 

“ Out with it, Em !” cried her brother. “ Come ? 
Marion, I will tell you all about it. We always go 
to the midnight Mass on Christmas eve, and we 
were just discussing what was to be done with a 
certain little Protestant, who it is to be feared 
would not go with us, and yet whom we could not 
make up our minds to leave at home alone.” 
“But, Joe, I can stay with your mamma and Mr. 
Darrell.” 

“Unfortunately the Pater and Mater go too.” 

“ Then I can amuse myself with a book, and if I 
get sleepy, go to bed.” 

“ What an entertaining Christmas eve !” 

“ Nay, Christmas eve will have passed by mid- 
night,” returned Marion ; “ any way,” she continued, 
laughing, “ I shall be better off than you, for I can 
have my supper, while you have, all of you, to fast.” 
“No, not the girls, only your obedient servant, 
who is above twenty-one.” 

“You will be very hungry by the time you get 
home.” 

“I think not; I had a good dinner at six, and 
that will do till to-morrow morning.” 

“But, Joe, listen; it will be Christmas day when 
you get home, so you can have what you like.” 
“ Can I ? Thank you,” replied Joe, looking aside 
at his sister. 


238 Marion Howard ; or, 

— »^snc? — 

“ May he not have some supper even then ?” 
replied Marion. 

“ Yes, if he likes/’ said Emily. 

“ Joe!” called his mother, from the drawing-room 
door. 

“Joe seems very strict,” said Marion; “I should 
think he is a very good Catholic.” 

“Very conscientious,” replied Emily; “ but we 
always laugh at him, because though he acts up to 
the iota in everything, he never goes beyond it. 
He is as religious as most boys of his age, but you 
must not look upon him as a model of piety. He 
would not eat a crumb over the collation allowed 
on fast days for the world ; but at the same time he 
would decidedly grumble at anything short of it. 
He would not miss Mass on Sundays for an empire, 
but I hardly ever in my life knew him in the 
church ten minutes before time, or a quarter of an 
hour after the service was over. He would not eat 
meat on Fridays, I verily believe, to save him from 
starvation ; but he likes a very good fish dinner. 
There, now you have Joe — he would, I am per- 
suaded, die any death for his religion ; but he takes 
things very easily.” 

“ Then why will he not have any supper to-ni ght 
after twelve o’clock ? for I could see by his face 
that he meant not to do so.” 

“ That,” said Emily, quietly, “is because he is to 
receive Holy Communion to-morrow. For that,” 
she continued, “ he will be in the church by half- 
past six to-morrow morning, to make his prepara- 
tion before the Mass, which will be at seven. So 


t 


239 


Trials and Triumphs. 

you see, merry as he is, and self-indulgent in 
common with all other boys, he can do something 
for Almighty God. I did not include these duties 
just now, when I was laughing at him. God bless 
him !” 

“ Yea, and he shall be blessed, though I don’t 
know who you are talking about,” cried Joe’s voice 
behind them. “ I hope it was not the Rev. Dol- 
phus, though.” 

“ Who is he ?” 

“ He means Mr. Gardiner. Do not be so un- 
charitable, Joe ! I am sure I would bless him 
willingly if I could, especially at Christmas time, 
and so would you.” 

“ Would I !” said Joe. “ Now, Marion, what are 
you going to do with yourself, without the light 
of our countenances ?” 

“Anything; pray, do not trouble yourself about 
me. I shall manage very well.” 

“ I can propose a capital plan.” 

“ What ? Something very outrageous, I know,” 
said Marion. 

“ Come with us. We shall have a jolly walk 
over the snow, first-rate music, best carpet and 
vestments, and I don’t know what all. Last, not 
least, no sermon, so you will run no risk of being 
converted.” 

Amid all his fun, a prayer was nevertheless flick- 
ering up from the sailor’s heart, that she might. 

“ Do !” cried Emily, clapping her hands as in the 
days of old. 

“What would he say ?” thought Marion; but 


240 


Marion Howard ; or , 

she glanced at the moonlight and thought of the 
music, and the inducement was too strong. 

“ Very well, I will.” 

“Hurrah!” cried Joe; “and now come in and 
sing that duet with Edith, which we all like so 
much.” 

And so Marion found herself once again in the 
Catholic church of Harleyford. They arrived there 
some little time before the Mass commenced, and 
seated in the same seat, beside the same friends, 
before the well-remembered altar, with its gilded 
tabernacle and massive candlesticks, Marion strove 
to recall and analyze the feelings with which she 
had regarded these things five years before. The 
church had been enlarged and adorned since her 
last visit, and the Christmas decorations were far 
more beautiful than she had anticipated. But 
Marion was changed. She felt that lights, incense, 
flowers, and music, however sweet, would have 
little or no influence over her imagination now. 
“And of what else does this religion consist,” 
she asked herself, “but in exterior show?” and she 
glanced from gilding to alabaster, and from picture 
to image. “ Beautiful, very ; but religion is some- 
thing more than a spirit of beauty.” 

The Mass commenced, but although she revelled 
in the music, Marion continued to criticise. Not a 
vestment, not a genuflection, not a movement of 
the priest, passed unnoted or unjudged in that 
busy little brain. “Further off than ever!” she 
thought, as the Creed concluded. But when the 
“ Adeste Fidelcs ” arose high through the vaulted 


Trials and Triumphs . 


241 


roof, ringing out clearly from childish voices, our 
little heroine was moved, and a tear stole down her 
cheek. “ Venite adorcmus /” sang the choir, and 
Marion bowed her head over Emily’s little book. 
Protestant as she was in every idea, and thou ght, 
and feeling, she felt the presence of the Child- God, 
and could not hold her head erect in pride, while 
every heart around her bowed before the cradle- 
shrine of Bethlehem. 

“Are you pleased you came, Marion?” asked 
Joe, offering her his arm, as she found herself 
again with her friends in the frosty air and winter 
moonlight. 

“ Yes, very; I should have been dull at home by 
myself.” 

“How did you like it?” 

“ The music was beautiful.” 

“Yes; we had some professionals, besides our 
usual amateurs.” 

“ I am not at all converted,” said Marion, mis- 
chievously. 

“ Very likely not; did you expect you would be?” 

“ No. It is a strange thing, Joe, but the last 
time I was here, I liked your religion a great 
deal better than I do now. I had then, I re- 
member, almost an idea of being a Catholic, or at 
least a Puseyite. Now — you must not be offended 
— but I hardly see an atom of sense in it all. 
I should like to know the use of that perpetual 
kneeling down and getting up again, which Father 
Stirling went through towards the latter part of the 
service.” 


21 


I 


242 Marion Howard ; or , 

“You would have knelt, had you been in his 
place,” said Joe, quietly; “but Marion, I am not at 
all surprised at what you tell me about your old 
and new ideas.” 

“Why not?” 

“ Because I believe you too sensible now, to be 
captivated by the forms and ceremonies of any 
religion; and, excuse me, really that is all you 
know of ours yet.” 

“ Nonsense, Joe ! I know a great deal more of 
your religion than you think.” 

Joe smiled. “ And yet you asked me why Father 
Stirling knelt.” 

“Yes, that is nothing; I mean that I understand 
the fundamental doctrines of your Church, such as 
your worship of the Virgin and the Saints, Purga- 
tory, &c” 

“I see,” said Joe, still smiling; “but, Marion, 
we have greater doctrines even than those; shall I 
give you the words of one of your own divines, 
touching this very subject of genuflection? ‘If/ 
he says, ‘ I believed what Catholics believe, I 
should lie prostrate on the sanctuary floor, day 
and night.’ Come, that would be more extraordi- 
nary even than a genuflection !” 

“Then what do you believe?” 

Joe paused. “I wish,” he said at length, “you 
would oblige me by asking my mother that ques- 
tion, instead of me.” 

“Joe!” cried Marion, bursting into a fit of 
laughter, “ I believe you do not know, yourself.” 

“ Not know !” he exclaimed ; and the young man 


Trials and Triumphs . 


243 


turned on her a look so intense that Marion was 
awed. “ Not know! But it is not from the mouth 
of a wild young fellow like me that you must 
learn such a truth as this. Ask my mother, or 
Emily." 

Marion changed the subject. 

" Father Stirling looks very little older," she 
observed. 

"Very little; he wears very well." 

" I am pleased to see him again. I used to be 
very fond of him as a child." 

"So is everybody in Harleyford, I think, except 
the Rev. Dolphus." 

"What, Mr. Gardiner?" 

"Yes; he has done a great deal to annoy Father 
Stirling, but as yet, all his weapons have been 
turned on himself." 

" I am not surprised you do not like him," said 
Marion ; " he is one of those clergymen, who, 
entering the Church as a profession, get through 
their ministrations without either heart or earnest- 
ness, with neither the zeal of the High-churchman, 
nor the piety of the Fow." 

"Are these the distinguishing characteristics of 
the two parties ?" asked Joe. 

" I think so ; little sympathy as I have with the 
Tractarians, I do consider them a very zealous 
body of men." 

" Well now, Marion, you may think it strange, 
but though I am a Catholic, I infinitely prefer your 
even ultra How-churchman. The Tractarian clings 
mainly to the forms which much as we think of 


244 


Mai'ion Howard; or ; 


them, are valueless, detached from the mighty 
truths they symbolize. I remember once almost 
laughing, when I was beguiled by a friend and my 
own curiosity, into a Puesyite place of worship. 
Shall I tell you what it reminded me of?” 

“Yes, do; but please to remember I have no 
fancy for Puseyism now.” 

“ I know that ; but now for my story. Once 
upon a time, during the Chinese war, it came into 
the sapient heads of some of the long-tailed China- 
men, that, as we gained such signal advantages 
over them by our steamships, if they only had 
them also, they could do great things. But the 
difficulty was to make them. Now you know the 
Chinese are first-rate copyists ; so at last from a 
distance, (for you may be sure we did not let them 
get very near,) they made an exact imitation of one 
of our finest screws. There was the funnel, and all 
the et ceteras , and they gazed with no little -pride on 
this chef d' oeuvre , which was going to make the 
En glish tremble, and set free the Celestial Empire. 
Unfortunately, however, one thing was wanting to 
make the steamer complete.” 

“ What was that ?” 

“The machinery, of which John Chinaman knew 
nothing ; and when, having lighted some fagots 
under the funnel, they saw the smoke come out of 
the top in tremendous wreaths, they w r ere wonder- 
fully astonished to see their steamer stand stock 
still! Need I draw the parallel ? The Tractarian 
may make crosses, and burn candles, chant his 
service, and set up his credence table, but it is only 


245 


Trials and Triumphs. 

a poor imitation of some things he does not under- 
stand, after all.” 

“You are very wise about the Church of Eng- 
land.” 

“ Well, I have not passed through my life of 
twenty-two years with my eyes shut, and I have 
talked a great deal to Father Stirling about those 
things, and that makes me wiser than I should 
otherwise be.” 

By this time they had emerged into the broad 
road, and falling back with the rest of the party the 
conversation became general. But a quiet spirit 
seemed to have fallen over the whole family, and 
Marion supped alone before the cosy fire in her 
own bedroom. 

“The compliments of the season, a merry Christ- 
mas, and a happy new year,” said a hearty voice 
behind her, as she next day sat alone in the draw- 
ing-room, pouring over an illuminated folio by the 
firelight. Marion turning, beheld Father Stirling, 
and it was with a feeling of sincere pleasure that 
she returned the kind greeting. 

“Well, I suppose it is rather late to condole 
with each other now,” said Father Stirling, gayly, 
after a few minutes’ chat, during which they were 
joined by the girls; “we are neither of us now, I 
suppose, whatever we were then, much the worse 
for our tumble ; you were dreadfully hurt though, 
I believe, poor child.” 

“O, nothing to you, Father Stirling! I was well 
in a few weeks, and you were ill for a year after- 
wards.” 


21 * 


246 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ Yes, I was; but you see time heals all things. 
I am afraid, though,” he added, thoughtfully, “ he 
is not so good a mediciner for the mind as the 
body. What say you ?” 

“ I hardly know — I have had so few wounds of 
either kind for him to cure as yet.” 

“ Happy child !” 

At this moment the bell rang, and in a few min- 
utes the whole party, including the entire Seymour 
family, were gathered around the dinner-table. 

Christmas ! Christmas ! Where is the heart 
that does not revel in thy name — that does not 
thrill with a thousand recollections, while the 
circle still unbroken gathers around the festive 
board, and every thought, and word, and glance is 
unity and harmony ? When even the low, sad 
whispers from old times, that breathe around the 
elder ones, are hushed in the joyous melody of the 
home-birds, and half-faded memories of Christmas 
past, are illumined by the ruddy light of Christmas 
present. All is joy, for old hearts will not think, 
and young ones cannot forecast, cannot read those 
characters of change with which the recesses of 
the future must be stored. O, Christmas ! dark 
would be the day if thou couldst fall as a shadow, 
rather than a sunbeam ! But this can never be. 
There is indeed a danger, that amid the glare of 
the glowing' fireside, the star of Bethlehem may 
shine above unseen ; that amid the sound of 
revelry and feasting, the angels’ harps may swell 
unheard. But when the best beloved have passed 
away, and the snapt heart-chain drags listlessly in 


Trials and Triumphs . 247 

the dust, the spirit, freed from the world, feels its 
true vocation. Gloria in excelsis Deo — the lonely 
hearth and vacant chair are forgotten beside the 
Crib, Pax hominibus bonce voluntatis — while Jesus, 
Mary, Joseph, smile from heaven, who shall mourn 
and weep on earth ? 

But the Cedars, at least, are as yet unshadowed, 
and worthy of Emily’s “good old times’ is the 
mirth that circles among the younger members of 
the party at Mr. Darrell’s stories. Nor is Father 
Stirling far behind, and his tales of adventures in 
foreign lands, and college freaks, alternately melt 
liis auditors into tears, or send them off into peals 
of lau g liter. 

“ Do tell us some more stories, please, Father 
Stirling,” cried Emily. “We like them so much.” 
“ Why, you children are like the daughters of 
the horse-leech ! If I go on much longer, I shall 
be making one up, and then you would never trust 
me again.” 

“ Tell us another tale about the French.” 

“ The French ! I am sure I have talked Paris 
to you, till you must know it almost as well as I 
do myself. You will be like Mr. Bridges, who 
went everywhere but to Complet.” 

“ But where ?” 

“Complet. Did I never tell you about that?” 
“Never. Do tell us, please.” 

“Well, once upon a time, there was a gentleman 
named Bridges, who, having determined on treat- 
ing himself to a fortnight’s holiday, thought he 
could not possibly spend it better than in a trip 


248 


Marion Howard ; or, 

across the channel. So on a balmy day in June 
he packed his portmanteau, and off he started. 
His purse was better stocked with money than his 
brains with French ; but with the verbs manger , 
boire , and dormir , a pocket dictionary, and sundry 
pantomimic gestures, he stumbled through the first 
few days, and did his best to think himself pro- 
foundly happy. Fie had come, as he phrased it, ‘to 
do Paris,’ and he did it, and no mistake about it. 
He wandered about, a solitary figure, at the 
Louvre, the Luxembourg, the Tuileries, the Jardin 
des Plantes, the Gobelins, the — but it would 
take me so long to tell you where he did go, that 
it would be no use attempting it — the fact is, he 
went everywhere but to Complet.” 

“Why didn’t he go there?” asked Joe. 

“Because they wouldn’t let him. He started 
from Palais Royal in all conceivable directions. 
He went to Passy, to Batignolles, to Vaugirad, but 
as soon as an omnibus came in sight, bearing the 
name of Complet above the door, he never could 
catch it. And yet it was evident to Bridges that 
it was a place of some note, or why so many omni- 
buses travelling thitherward, for there was not a 
quarter that he traversed, but an omnibus rumbled 
past, bound to that most mysterious locality. 

“ At last Bridges grew desperate, he had only 
two days more, and Complet he must visit, or how 
could he face those quizzical friends of his, who 
knew Paris so well, if he had never been to Com- 
plet ? Yes, he would go, why shouldn’t he ? Just 
as he came to this desperate decision, an omnibus 


Trials and Triumphs. 249 

crossed the square of the Palais Royal, bearing in 
unmistakable characters the name Complet. 

“ ‘ Now for it/ thought Bridges, setting his teeth 
with determination ; but the vehicle, as was usual, 
passed on before he had time to reach it. 

“ ‘ Never mind/ said the chivalrous Bridges, 
thinking of Jones, Brown and Robinson, 'I’ll go this 
time. Complet !’ he shouted at the top of his 
voice, running after the omnibus. 

“ ‘ Complet, Monsieur/ said the conductor, as 
he pointed to the board over his head. 

“‘Oui! Oui ! Complet!’ cried Bridges, still run- 
ning on. 

“ ‘ Complet !’ roared the conductor. 

“‘Complet!* shrieked Bridges, waving his um- 
brella. 

“ By this time all the people in and on the omni- 
bus were on the broad grin, which at any other 
time would have made Bridges, who was rather 
bashful, feel nervous, but too much was at stake 
now. His anger did not decrease when the con- 
ductor, having laid down his bar, sat himself upon 
it, shrugging his shoulders at poor Bridges. 

“‘Complet!* now shrieked a voice or two from 
the pavement, and thinking that the French accent 
might propitiate the conductor, where the English 
had so miserably failed, Bridges sped on in vain ! 
The omnibus quickened its pace, and at that very 
minute Bridges tripping over a stone, measured his 
length in the Rue de Rivoli. 

“‘C'est tin vrai Anglais / said a Parisian belle, 
which remark happening to fall within the limits of 


250 


Marion Howard ; 01% 

poor Bridges’ French, in no way consoled him. 
But how to retaliate, when the speaker was a lady, 
and had only spoken the truth, for Bridges was a 
Cockney born and bred ; but with all his devotion 
to the fair sex, he could have eaten her without 
salt. But even if he had, he would not have been 
much better for it, so he wiped off the dust, picked 
up his umbrella and limped off to his hotel. Two 
days after he left Paris, sad at heart, for he loved 
the cafes, the restaurants, the Boulevards, and 
Champs Elysees, but he had not been to Complet. 
On board the steamer he met with another home- 
bound Englishman, and having grown communi- 
cative, they retailed their respective adventures. 

“ ‘ There is one quarter of Paris,’ said Bridges, 
‘that must be very populous, for I never saw an 
omnibus going to or coming from it, that was not 
crowded.’ 

“‘Which is that?” asked his new friend. 

“ * Complet,’ said Bridges. ‘ Those dunder-headed 
Frenchmen could never understand me, though t 
screamed Complet at them till I was hoarse,’ and 
Bridges narrated his adventure of the previous day 
in the Rue de Rivoli. 

“ ‘O dear ! O dear !’ said his companion, shaking 
with laughter. 

“‘Did you ever hear such a thing?’ asked 
Bridges. 

“ ‘ No, that I never did ; why, man alive, Com- 
plet means full!'” 

“ Now, Father Stirling, you made that story up, 
you know you did !” 


251 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ And is that all the thanks I am to get for my 
trouble in telling it?” 

“ Emily is very ungrateful,” said Marion ; “ I am 
sure we will believe it, every word.” 

“Will you? Well, perhaps you had better not, 
altogether, for though Brown, Jones, and Robinson 
contrived to worm it out of poor Bridges on his 
return home, perhaps they may rather have embel- 
lished it.” 

The ladies now adjourned to the drawing-room, 
where they found a cosy, chatting little party, 
and when shortly afterwards they were joined by 
the gentlemen, Marion found herself beside her old 
friend, the priest. 

“ I had quite forgotten,” she exclaimed after a 
few minutes’ conversation, “ but do you know, 
Father Stirling, I meant to have been very stiff, for 
I am very angry with you !” 

“ With me ! What have I done ?” 

“ Why, converted my old nurse’s daughter.” 

“ No. I have not.” 

“ Who did then?” 

“Almighty God. It is paying me a vain com- 
pliment to give me credit of anything half so glori- 
ous. Have you seen her?” 

“ Not yet, but I saw her mother yesterday.” 
“Well, and you found her more than half recon- 
ciled to it, did you not?” 

“Yes; but you will never make a convert of 
her.” 

“Very likely not; poor old soul, I believe her 
to be a thoroughly honest, straightforward woman.” 


252 


Marion Howard . 

“ Her creed is a simple one,” observed Marion. 

“Very,” replied the clergyman; “faith, hope and 
charity.” 

“ And do you believe that is enough to save 
her?” asked Marion. 

“I do ; for I believe she is in invincible ignor- 
ance.” 



CHAPTER XIII. 


<? 

1 


T was New Year’s night, and there was an 
evening party at the Cedars. Nothing so de- 
lighted the kind-hearted master of this hospit- 
able home, as to see the young people merry 
around him, and to-night it certainly appeared 
that in furtherance of this object, the usually quiet 
house had (to use Joe’s own phrase) been turned 
out of window. The whole was a scene of lights, 
flowers, and flitting drapery. The conservatory 
was hung with Chinese lamps, the large dining- 
room converted into a ball-room, while quiet 
coteries of elderly people clustered around the 
card-table, or sat talking politics and news in the 
drawing-room. Radiant amid them all passed Mr. 
Darrell, a perfect spirit of sunshine now animating 
the dancers, now lingering behind a whist-player’s 
chair, now turning over the pages at the piano, 
explaining prints and pictures, or chatting with 
some aged dowager in her corner by the fire. Can 
he be forgiven, if amid all he gazed with unwonted 
pride on his lovely Emily, certainly pronounced by 
all the belle of the country, far and wide ? Many 
a manly form hovered around her, and many a 
whispered compliment fell on her ear, many an eye 

22 253 


254 


Mt avion Howai d ; or, 

beamed in the light of hers ; but though she 
smiled, and chatted, and danced with all, not 
one could claim the preference, and Mr. Darrell 
sighed. 

“Unusual in a pretty girl of seventeen,” he whis- 
pered to his wife. “ That quiet Edie is twice as 
much of a coquette as she. See how pleased she 
is with the soft nothings of that moustached hero. 
Little puss ! They have put the quadrille out 
twice already by their inattention. There is little 
Emily, on the other hand, treats all attentions with 
the greatest possible nonchalance. She is a dar- 
ling child, but I wish she was more like other 
girls. Look at her now, half hidden behind the 
curtain, talking to old Seymour.” 

“ Marion Howard is a sweet looking girl, with 
her beautiful floating ringlets,” observed Mrs. 
Darrell. 

“Very; but she is not as pretty as our Emily.” 

And now a polka struck up, on which the Dar- 
rells and Seymours, the only Catholic girls present, 
slipped off into the drawing-room, where they 
stood laughing and chatting with the old people, 
rather, perhaps, to the discomfiture of sundry sci- 
entific whist players, who growled behind their 
cards. 

“Emily,” said Joe, putting his head in at the 
door, “come and have just a turn or two with me. 
You are such a jolly little dancer. There’s not one 
of the girls there fit for anything after you. 
Come !” 

“Are you tired?” asked Joe, as, after turns 


255 


Trials and Triumphs . 

around the room, Emily stopped and put her arm 
in his. 

“ Rather — come and have a walk with me up- 
stairs in the long gallery. It looked so pretty in 
the moonli giit, as I came through just now, and 
every place down here is so warm.” 

They passed up the broad oak staircase, and 
still arm-in-arm, were soon gazing through the 
large window at the end of the gallery, upon the 
placid snow scene. 

“ It is very nice here,” said Emily, laying her 
head upon her brother’s shoulder, while he stole 
his arm gently around her. “ Do you not think 
so?” 

“Very; the music below sounds so subdued 
and sweet.” 

There was a silence of some minutes, broken at 
length by the sister. 

“Joe!” 

“Yes, darling.” 

“What are you thinking of?” 

“Of many things — of the sea, partly, and how 
long it will be before I am a captain, and partly of 
the people down stairs.” 

“Joe,” said his sister, looking up at him archly, 
“ I have made a discovery to-night.” 

“What is it?” 

“That you are a desperate flirt.” 

“ O, Em ! What an accusation ! They say that, 
I know, of sailors generally, but I thought I was 
an exception to this rule.” 

“Then, ‘ lay not that Tattering unction to your 


256 


'Marion Howard; or, 


soul’ any longer. You have been doing dreadful 
execution among the young ladies to-night, I 
fear !” 

“ It was not premeditated homicide, then, but 
one must be civil in one’s own house.” 

“How do you like the Seymours?” 

“Very well; they have wonderfully improved.” 
“What do you think of Jessie?” 

“She is a good-looking girl, but I think she 
knows it.” 

“ She cannot look in the glass without doing so. 
She is certainly the belle to-night.” 

“Jessie Seymour! Is she?” asked Joe, dryly. 

“ Why, I tho ught you liked her very much.” 

“ I do pretty well, but she is not one of my prime 
favorites.” 

“Joe, I am going to tell you something. I 
hardly know whether I am right or wrong in 
doing so, but remember, it is only what I think, 
not what I know — ” 

“Well, what is it?” asked Joe, with all a man’s 
curiosity. 

“ I think Jessie is fond of you.” 

“ The dickens she is ! Nonsense, Em !” he added, 
very seriously, “you don’t mean it!” 

“ I mean, that from many little things, I think 
she is, and up to this moment I half fancied you 
rather liked her.” 

“ O, my dear little sissy ! for goodness sake don’t 
tell her I don’t! At least, that is, give her a hint 
about it in some fashion. Girls have such nice ways 
about them, they can say a world of things in one 


257 


Trials and Triumphs . 

word. O, Em ! I wouldn’t have anybody like me 
that I couldn’t like again for twenty worlds. Why, 
what on earth have I ever said to her?” And 
poor Joe’s face looked the picture of consternation. 

“ Nothing that I know of,” said Emily, who 
could not help laughing in spite of his distress ; 
“ but you really have shown her a good deal of 
attention at different times. Look even at to- 
night, you have been flirting dreadfully with her.” 
“ Nonsense, Emily, I was the same to all the 
girls in the room !” 

‘No, Joe, you were not; there is one that you 
have very much neglected. One reason why I 
bi 'ought you up here, was to scold you for it 
again. I do not think you have once asked 
Marion to dance with you all the evening.” 

The grasp around Emily’s waist tightened. 
“Yes, I did once, but she was engaged.” 
“And why did you not ask her again?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

Emily glanced up; the young man’s cheeks 
were crimson. 

“Joe,” she whispered softly, kneeling upon the 
broad window-sill, and throwing her arms around 
his neck, “ tell me what is the matter ?” 

“ Nothing, child !” 

“Yes, there is! O, Joe, darling! I have read 
your secret — but a Protestant !” 

“ I know that, but it does not prevent her being 
an angel.” 

“And would you peril your faith, your soul for 
her?” 


09 * 


258 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ No, Emily, she is as dead to me as though we 
had never met.” 

“ Thank God !” cried the impetuous little crea- 
ture, bursting into a passionate flood of tears. 

“ Come, Emmy, Emmy! you will make such a 
fright of yourself, and that will never do.” 

“ I cannot help crying, for I know, that in spite 
of all your gayety, you must be unhappy.” 

“No, I am not; I have one hope left.” 

“What is that?” asked his sister, anxiously. 
“That she may yet become a Catholic. I have 
prayed for this ever since I first knew her.” 

“ So have I, but I will pray harder than ever, 
now that you and she are bound, as it were, in our 
intentions. Of all things I could desire, it would 
be to see Marion a Catholic, and you her husband; 
and I should like to see Edie well married, too,” 
she added, musingly. 

“And for Emily to be the old maid of the 
family, eh ?” 

“Just so, with a dog, and a cat, and a parrot.” 
“No, no, Emmy, that would never do; we must 
have a baronet, at least, for you.” 

“A baronet! Nothing short of a marquis will 
satisfy me, I can tell you.” 

“I wonder what will be the fate of us three?” 
said Joe, thoughtfully. “If that young Gauntlet 
were only a Catholic, there is no one I should like 
better for you than he. He is really a good sort 
of a fellow.” 

Again they looked out upon the snow, and again 
there was silence. 


Trials and Triumphs . 259 

“Joe,” said Emily, at length, “I have guessed 
your secret, shall I tell you mine? A secret 
cherished in my heart of hearts for years, though 
never whispered except to one ; but somehow, 
to-night, I feel that I must tell you, for, dear 
as Edith is, I cannot say things as easily to her as 
I can to you.” 

“Who is the one who knows it?” asked Joe, 
with a sickly sensation at his heart. 

“ Father Stirling.” 

“I thought so; then I can read it. O, Emily! 
Emily ! would you break all our hearts ? If you 
were ugly, stupid, or cross, it would be different; 
but you, our pet, our sunshine, the most beautiful 
girl of half the county.” 

Emily smiled. “Are you trying to make me 
vain ? But this is not a right feeling,” she con- 
tinued; “ if I were all your affection loves to fancy 
me, would it be too much to give to God ?” 

“ No, but He does not ask it.” 

“ He does.” 

“ How do you know ?” 

“ By what I feel here,” she replied, laying her 
hand upon her heart. “From childhood He has 
never given me another thou ght.” 

“What does Father Stirling say?” 

“ He told me yesterday for the first time, that he 
believes I have a vocation ; and that is why I have 
been so happy all day. Joe, darling, you should 
rejoice with those who do rejoice, and weep with 
those who weep.” 

“ I shall have a great deal more weeping than 


2 60 


Marion Howard ; or , 

rejoicing to do then,” replied her brother; “for 
though you are so jolly about it, I expect you will 
break our father’s and mother’s hearts.” 

“ God will strengthen them,” replied Emily. 
“And when are you going?” 

“Not yet; Father Stirling says I must wait at 
least two years. I shall be nearly twenty then.” 

“ What order do you wish to enter ? the convent 
where you went to school, I suppose. Bother 
those old nuns ! I was always afraid of them. 
They could coax a very broomstick into taking 
their habit, I believe.” 

“ They must first learn whether it had a vocation, 
which might be rather hard to determine. Now, 
you know, Joe, you do not believe one word you 
are saying; you only talk so because you are cross. 
You are wrong, I do not wish to go to the Sisters.” 
“ Where then ?” 

Emily hesitated. “ I would rather not talk to 
you about it this evening, you are not the dear boy 
you generally are.” 

“ Well, I won’t be cross any more, only tell me.” 
“ I do not know yet, but I should like the Car- 
melites, or perhaps the Poor Clares.” 

“ O, Emily! this is too much, I could not bear 
that !” 

“Yes, you could,” said his sister, kissing him, 
“ or anything else, for the love of God. I am not 
going yet, so don’t look so dull, but come down 
stairs again. Now I know your secret, and you 
know mine, we shall get on the better.” 

“I don’t know that; it would be a comical fash- 


Trials and Triumphs . 


261 


ion of helping an overburthened horse, to put a 
fresh load upon him.” 

“ Ah, but Joe! we must bear one another’s bur- 
dens.” 

“That may be all very well, when one is empty- 
handed, .but when each has a good tidy load of his 
own, the other’s help is little assistance. At any 
rate, I cannot say that I feel much the better of 
your communication. Fancy me at sea, thinking 
of you in a convent without shoes, and Marion 
married to somebody else. Comforting that, for a 
fellow, certainly !” 

“ I wish I had not told you now,” said Emily, 
drawing the shawl around her. 

“ And so do I but seeing the shadow of his 
sweet little sister’s face, Joe stopped. “Forgive 
me, my own darling !” he exclaimed ; “ be what you 
like, and may God bless you. You are shivering 
with the cold, come down directly.” 

Once more they mingled with their friends, and 
were soon again buoyant with the buoyancy of 
youth. At the end of half an hour Joe and Marion 
were whirling around in the polka. 

“ I engage you for the first quadrille at the 
country ball,” said Joe. 

“ If I go,” answered his companion ; “ but if I can 
possibly get myself excused, I shall. I have never 
been in a public ball in my life.” 

“ Neither have the girls ; but papa wishes to take 
them, and so they will not refuse.” 

“ As much as to say, I must not do so either. 
Will Mrs. Darrell go?” 


262 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ No. It would be too much for her. It is seven 
miles off.” 

“ Perhaps I may stay and keep her company.” 

“ I do not think you will be let off very easily. 
Mind, I shall vote against you.” 

“ Thank you. Though I do not know why you 
should throw your sword and belt into the scale f 
You will have enough to do looking after Miss Sey- 
mour.” 

“ Her father is going,” said Joe, “ so I shall have 
no need to do that.” 

“ Mr. Seymour has been here all this evening, 
but you have evidently seen great necessity for 
attending to her, notwithstanding.” 

“What a teaze you are, Marion! the girls have 
been giving you these notions, I know.” 

“ My own eyes have,” replied Marion. 

“ Then do not trust them for the future, for, 
believe me, they are false guides ;” and the young 
sailor cast an earnest, reproachful glance upon his 
companion. He could not help it, and her woman’s 
instinct read the interpretation. 

That night, in the solemn solitude of its darkness, 
three hearts pondered a secret newly read. 

“ Poor dear boy ! How anxious and unhappy 
he must be! I must pray hard for her conversion^ 
for both their sakes ;” and, with her rosary in her 
hand, Emily sank to sleep. 

“ Emily, my pet, my darling! I cannot bear it!” 
and the sailor heart sobbed in his great grief, and 
.bathed the pillow with his tears. 

“ Does he really like me ? I never thought of 


Trials and Triumphs. 263 

it until to-night. I wish he had been at sea! He 
is such a fine good fellow, I would bear anything 
rather than make him unhappy ; but, really, it is 
not my fault. Perhaps it is only fancy, after all, 
though.” And Golden-hair fell asleep, and dreamed 
of Henry Lisle. 

Marion did not go to the country ball, notwith- 
standing all Joe’s persuasion and opposition, for, as 
she had a cold, Mr. Seymour and Mrs. Darrell 
took her part, and so the carriage drove off with 
Mr. Darrell and his children, leaving Marion and 
the mistress of the Cedars in quiet possession of its 
snuggest chimney corner. 

“Now, Marion,” said the latter, stirring the fire, 
and drawing the large screen closer, “we will 
make ourselves cosy; where is your knitting? I 
quite agree with you in preferring this to a seven 
miles’ drive through the cold in a gauze dress, and 
I think a warm bed infinitely more comfortable 
than dancing till four or five o’clock in the morn- 
ing. I shall be the only one at Mass to-morrow, I 
presume.” 

“No, that you shall not, for I will go with you.” 

“Will you? Then you and I will breakfast first 
by ourselves.” 

“ You seldom miss Mass, do you ?” asked Marion. 

“ Not very often, my dear, thank God.” 

“ I cannot think why Catholics should think so 
much more of their churches than we do. Do you 
not believe, dear Mrs. Darrell, that God hears 
prayer offered to Him, before the duties of the day, 
in one’s own room ?” 


264 


Marion Howard ; or \ 


“ Certainly, dear, I do.” 

“ Then do tell me, why you should go every 
morning through the cold, and sometimes even 
through the rain, to church, when you can pray 
just as well at home?” 

“ Marion, I shall answer your question by asking 
you another — do you ever hear from Edward ?” 

“Yes, very often.” 

“ Why, then, do you long so anxiously to see 
him ?” 

“Dear Mrs. Darrell,” replied the young girl, 
“ what are these written words, in comparison to 
his own dear self?” 

“ Such is the feeling of the Catholic, my child,” 
returned her friend; “his communion with his 
bather in heaven may be fervent anywhere, but 
his most ardent devotion is in the actual presence 
of his Lord.” 

“ But God is no more present in the church 
than anywhere else — in this room, for instance.” 

“ Did I not once tell you, Marion dear, that you 
knew very little of our religion ? Suppose I told 
you that we believe that Jesus, God and Man, is 
really present on our altars, what would you say?” 

“ That it was not possible you could hold such 
a belief.” 

“Nevertheless we do, and strange as it seems to 
you, it is the one grand point of the Catholic 
religion. Like the heart in the human frame, it is 
the centre of its vitality ; take it away, and every 
doctrine, every sacrament, has passed with it.” 

“ I always thought your religion strange,” ex- 


265 


Trials and 'Triumphs. 

— ^re- 
claimed Marion, “ very strange ; but I never 
dreamed of such an idea as this in it. Do you 
mean to say that when you go into a Catholic 
church, you believe God is actually there ?” 

“ Yes, as truly as He was in Bethlehem, in Naz- 
areth, on the Mount of Olives, by the Lake of 
Tiberias, or on the cross, as He was in His resur- 
rection and ascension, as He is at this moment in 
heaven. All this is expressed in the word Tran- 
substantiation. Did you never hear of this doc- 
trine of our Church ?” 

“Yes, sometimes; but I never stopped to con- 
sider what it meant. I thought it had something 
to do with your celebration of the Communion.” 

“And you were right,” said Mrs. Darrell. “The 
Blessed Sacrament on our altars is what we receive 
in Holy Communion.” 

“What! God himself!” said Marion, starting. 
“You surely cannot believe such a thing as this.” 

“ Not when Christ says, ‘ This is my Body, this 
is my Blood ’ ?” 

“Yes; but he meant it figuratively, of course,” 
said Marion, decidedly. 

“Who told you so?” asked Mrs. Darrell. 

Marion paused, her eyes brimful of astonish- 
ment. 

“ Who told you so ? ” repeated her friend. 
“ These are the words that Christ actually pro- 
nounced, and I believe them ; you accept the same 
words, and you do not believe them. What is 
your authority for this ?” 

“ But I do not disbelieve them, Mrs. Darrell.” 

23 


266 


Marion Howard ; or , 


“Not when God asserts one thing and you 
another? Protestants talk a great deal about the 
wresting of the Scriptures, but this is more. It is 
an absolute denial of the grandest institution of 
Christianity, and this revealed perfectly, purely, 
openly, in their own Bibles.” 

Marion looked thoughtfully in the fire, and for a 
time both ladies maintained a profound silence. 

“ If I believed such a thing, I am certain I 
should die.” 

“ No, you would not,” replied her companion. 
“Our Lord abides with us, not to destroy, but to 
save. On the contrary, I have heard many con- 
verts say that from the moment they believed in 
the Blessed Sacrament, the whole world was 
changed to them. But such a feeling as yours is 
very natural. I have no doubt that the sentiment 
of a soul upon whom this truth first dawns must 
be one of unmitigated awe. If you had been in a 
dark room for some time, and a person suddenly 
entered with a light, you would be dazzled, though 
after a time you would grow accustomed to it, and 
even use it as a means of sight. Yet this would 
not be because the lamp grew duller, but simply 
because you grew more habituated to its beams; 
and so it is with the Blessed Sacrament, for those 
who are first most overwhelmed with its glory, are 
those who afterwards bask most freely in the 
beams of its light and heat.” 

“ But it all seems so confused to me,” exclaimed 
Marion ; “ how do you believe that the Blessed 
Sacrament comes upon the altar?” 


267 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“I will explain this doctrine to you, my dear, as 
well as I can, but the subject is so tremendous that 
one almost trembles to approach it. You know 
that we all believe that Christ died upon the cross 
for man’s salvation, for this at least is an article of 
faith common to both Catholic and Protestant; 
but we believe, moreover, that the one great Sacri- 
fice, though perfectly consummated on the cross, is 
still continued in the Sacrifice of the Mass. The 
Blood of Christ is the universal medicine, the Mass 
the living fountain that keeps it perpetually flow- 
ing, bright with the ever fresh and unchangeable 
love of the heart of Jesus. Holy Communion is 
the stream of life, that, issuing from this living 
fountain, carries its whole efficacious power to 
heal, down into each of our weak and suffering 
souls, and the power of all the other sacraments 
likewise, takes its rise in this one same glorious 
spring, this living Presence of our Redeemer.” 

“ What do you mean by the Sacrifice of the 
Mass, dear Mrs. Darrell? Surely you believe the 
Sacrifice of our Lord, once offered on Calvary, was 
sufficient to save the whole world ?” 

“Undoubtedly it was, Marion; but our faith 
teaches us that the Sacrifice of the Cross and 
the Sacrifice of the Mass are one and the same 
thing. Thus, you see, the death of our Divine 
Lord is not for us, as for you, an historical event 
that took place some eighteen hundred years ago, 
but an ever present reality; for Pie who had power 
to lay down His life, and to take it up again, chose 
to perpetuate the moment of His death until the 


268 


Marion Howard ; or, 

end of time. And as we believe that these two 
Sacrifices are identical, so we believe that Jesus 
Christ is offered, and sin atoned for, as perfectly in 
one as in the other. In the great Sacrifice of 
our Lord, therefore, the two ancient priesthoods 
are combined and fulfilled. That of Aaron, with 
its constant stream of blood, flowing ever as sin 
abounded and increased, and that more glorious 
and mysterious priesthood of Melchizedek, who 
offered bread and wine, and whose superiority, 
Abraham, the very foundation-stone of the Aaronic 
dispensation, acknowledged by giving him tithes 
of the spoils he had taken from the enemies of 
God. Like that priest of the Most High God, 
the priest of latter days takes bread and wine; 
all he does is to pronounce the words of consecra- 
tion that Jesus Christ himself pronounced eighteen 
hundred years ago, ‘ This is My Body, this is My 
Blood,’ and those words bring down the King 
of kings from heaven, to remain under those 
humble veils of bread and wine until He glides 
into the hearts of his children in Holy Commu- 

• ) y * 

mon. 

“ Is the Blessed Sacrament always on the altar?” 
“Yes, dear, in the tabernacle; that is why that 
red light burns before it.” 

“And that is why you always kneel when you 
enter the church ! Now I understand what Joe 
meant, when he said on Christmas eve, that I 
should have knelt, had I been in Father Stirling’s 
place.” 

Once again there was silence, during 


which 


269 


Trials and Triumphs. 

Marion pushed back her chair, and knelt down 
upon the hearth-rug at Mrs. Darrell’s feet, where 
she remained, apparently absorbed in the red coals. 

“ It is a strange thing,” she exclaimed at length ; 
“but this, something like this, has been my dream 
from my almost babyhood. Of course, my dear 
Mrs. Darrell,” she added, suddenly looking up 
through her curls into that lady’s face, “ of course 
I cannot think it true ; but I can well imagine that 
those who do, live in a different world. Why you 
believe that you almost talk to God, face to face !” 
“ Of course we do, dear, and carry all our 
troubles to Him, as we should have done in the 
days of his visible sojourn on earth 1” 

“And I always fancied I understood the Catholic 
religion so well, while it seems I had never so 
much as heard of its principal doctrine, or at 
least never heard of it to give it a moment’s 
thought. But it cannot possibly be true !” 

“ Then it is a magnificent deception,” said her 
friend. 

“ You know, Mrs. Darrell, we consider the 
Lord’s Supper as a figure of his death upon the 
cross,” observed Marion. 

“Are you not sufficiently acquainted with Bible 
history, my child, to know that the figure invariably 
precedes the thing signified ? Where can you find 
a more beautiful one of our Lord’s death and 
atonement than the Passover? A lamb without 
blemish was slain, and its blood sprinkled over 
their houses saved them from destruction. Not 

a bone was broken, but it was divided among 

23 * 


270 


Marion Howard ; or, 

all the family, and entirely consumed with bitter 
herbs. Here certainly was a figure of the one 
great Sacrifice, perfect in all its parts. Our Lord 
came on earth and fulfilled it, and what then? 
Protestants say, that having done so, and abolished 
this exquisite figure of the Paschal lamb, before 
he left the world, he instituted in its stead another 
figure. Even supposing it to represent our great 
Redemption as past, and to be taken in memory 
of it, what is it? Why the representation of 
His Body by a square of wheaten bread, and 
the representation of His Blood by a drop of 
wine sipped out of a chalice. Catholics are at 
least reasonable in believing that our Lord worked 
a stupendous wonder, and veiled His Divinity and 
Humanity under the humble appearances of bread 
and wine, while Protestants, in denying the mys- 
tery, assert what outrages reason.” 

“I understand what you mean. You adore a 
mystery, where we only see a figure.” 

“Exactly so; and you must remember that our 
Lord once said, in speaking to his chosen twelve, 
‘To others I speak in parables, but to you it is 
given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of 
God.’ Now would it not have been much more 
like a parable than the explanation of a mystery, 
to speak of the simple representation of a thing as 
the actual thing itself? And this, moreover, on 
the very eve of his death, when even men couch 
their last will and testament in unmistakable terms, 
lest when they are no longer living to explain, 
their intention should be taken in a different sense 


271 


Trials and Triumphs. 

from what they had intended. But there was 
another occasion beside the institution of the Holy 
Eucharist, upon which our Lord alluded to it. Of 
course you remember the long discourse in the 
sixth chapter of St. John, in which He talks so 
much of the ‘ Bread of Life’ to His disciples, and 
says, ‘ Unless you eat the Flesh of the Son of 
Man, and drink His Blood, you have no life in 
you.’ ” 

“Ah! but of course that is a figure of speech.” 

“ No, dear child, it is not. Do you think that 
for the sake of explaining this figure, if it had been 
such, our Lord would have suffered the Jews 
to have left Him as they did, for from that day 
many went back from Him, and walked with Him 
no more? Did He value disciples so little as 
to let them depart, rather than say, My Body 
shall be represented by a piece of bread, and 
My Blood by a drop of wine ? Would it have 
been like the loving Jesus to let them go, when a 
word would have detained them ? No, Marion, 
if the doctrine of Transubstantiation be not true, it 
is our Blessed Lord Himself who has misled the 
millions of rejoicing souls, who for nearly two 
thousand years have lived and died by the strength 
of this Bread of Life. For remember, my child, 
your Church is but a parasite newly sprung from 
the stem of an ancient tree, and until the reign 
of Henry the Eighth no other belief was known. 
Yes, millions have feasted as the twelve did on 
the night of that Holy Thursday, and have jour- 
neyed on to eternity, terrible to the devils, and 


272 Marion Howard; or ; 

independent of the evil world, because they have 
been in the family, and eaten the Lamb that was 
slain to deliver them. Then, again, my dear, what 
do you suppose St. Paul meant when he said, 
4 Whoso eateth and drinketh unworthily, not dis- 
cerning the Lord’s Body, eateth and drinketh 
judgment (or as your Bibles have it, damnation) 
to himself?’ Marion, God does not deal judgment 
and damnation lightly around him, but really I can 
hardly see why Protestants are threatened with it 
here. How can they discern what does not exist? 
If the Body of Christ is not in the Bread, nor 
in that cup, why this heavy denunciation for not 
discerning it ? To Catholics this verse is plain 
enough, for surely judgment and damnation are 
due to him, who would dare to receive that hum- 
ble host or chalice, which veil the living presence 
of Almighty God, as common bread and wine.” 

“ But, Mrs. Darrell, where is the man, let him 
be ever so holy, who would be worthy to touch 
God ?” 

44 Nowhere, Marion. But men like our priests, 
who devote their lives to His service, are more 
worthy to touch Him than the men who crucified 
Him. Do you not think so?” 

44 That was different ; Christ consented to the 
humiliation of His passion for our sakes.” 

44 And He consents to be handled by sinners 
now for our sakes. Can you not see, that if He 
comes down upon our altars of His own free 
will, it is for the very purpose of being handled by 
cur priests, and received by men less pure even 


273 


Trials and Triumphs . 

than themselves? I can understand a priest pros- 
trate on the ground beneath the sense of his un- 
worthiness, and yet saying Mass ten minutes after- 
wards with the greatest confidence. Do you im- 
agine the Virgin Mother of God considered herself 
worthy for one moment to perform the duties of 
that sacred maternity? Certainly not; but we can 
fancy her still less shrinking from those duties on 
the score of unworthiness. Had w r e scaled the 
heights of heaven to find the Blessed Sacrament 
and bring it to our altars, then indeed one might 
talk of God outraged by man ; but while He 
Himself, of His own free will, visits His creatures in 
their nothingness, we may not shrink from Him. 
And who w r ould wish to do so ? O, my child ! you 
may love God. I believe sincerely that, in common 
with many Protestants, you do ; but the warmest 
Protestant piety must be cold beside even ordinary 
Catholic devotion. You must not mistake me in 
saying this. God forbid, that I should arrogate to 
ourselves, individually, warmer hearts in the cause 
of religion than you ! It is not that. It is that 
there is a reality, a warmth, a home-feeling, if we 
may so style it, in the Catholic Church, that one 
looks for in vain elsewhere/’ 

“ Of course, dear Mrs. Darrell, with such a 
belief as yours, religion must be one golden, glori- 
ous dream. But it cannot be true/’ 

“ It is true,” said Mrs. Darrell, kissing her; 
“true as God, for it is God himself. To-night, 
of course, I have only given you a few points 
of this important subject; there are many more, 


274 


Marion Howard . 


and to-morrow I will* lend you some books, and 
you shall read them for yourself. That is, if you 
would like to do so.” 

“ Of course I should like,” said Marion, ener- 
getically ; “let me take them to church and read 
them during the Mass. Somehow this idea seems 
the most beautiful one I heard of. Catholics ought 
to be good ; 1 should think they would never dare 
to go inside a church if they had done wrong.” 
Mrs. Darrell smiled. “ That would be rather 
hard, Marion ; God does not bear with sinners the 
less patiently because He hates sin with an inexor- 
able hatred. Hence the Sacrament of Penance.” 
“Penance! O, Mrs. Darrell! that is dreadful! 
I never hear the word without thinking of the 
pilgrims of Lorretto with peas in their shoes. 
I never can understand how any one can believe 
in getting to heaven by doing penance.” 

“Ah, Marion, that shows that you know just 
as much of the Sacrament of Penance as you did 
just now of the Holy Eucharist. But we will not 
talk of this to-night. You have quite enough to 
think of for the present.” 

“ I have, indeed.” 

At this moment the supper was brought in, 
and soon after they retired. But it was late 
before Marion’s light was extinguished, for she sat 
a whole half hour in reverie before she commenced 
her preparations for the night, and then the sixth 
chapter of St. John was read and re-read many 
times ; and during all this time Golden-hair never 
thought once of Henry Lisle. 



CHAPTER XIV. 


« (V 


1 


kV 

Cj 


AM very sorry, my dear,” said Mrs. Darrell, 
the next morning to her little guest. “ I have 
mislaid the key of the closet, in which I had 
placed several books ; but I will look for it, 
and give you the volumes I promised you, as soon 
as I find it. Do you think you had better go to 
Mass with me this morning, it is so very cold ?” 

“ Surely, if you can bear it, it will do me no 
harm,” said Marion. 

“ I do not know that; we Catholics get used to 
inclement weather and untimely hours ; you hardly 
ever went out so early on such a cold morning in 
your life, I should think.” 

“If I were at home, I should very likely be just 
starting for the schools, to help the teacher cut out 
and fix the work for the children. I generally go 
twice a week ; it is so much for her to do by her- 
self, poor thing.” 

“ Well done, little Marion ! I had no idea you 
were so handy or so industrious !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Darrell. 

“ What time did they come home from the ball ?” 
asked Marion. 

“ Between four and five this morning. Betsy sat 

275 


276 


Mari on Howard; or ) 


lip for them, and had plenty of hot coffee ready. 
I do not expect we shall see any of them very 
soon.” 

At this moment the door opened, and Emily 
entered, beaming and bri ght as usual. 

“Why did you get up so soon, my child?” 

“ Because I did not care to stay in bed ; I never 
like to make the morning pay for the night’s 
dissipation. Besides, I wanted to go to Mass.” 

“Why, Emily, you are quite a little miracle; it 
is more than I could do, and I am both older and 
stronger than you.” 

“ I do not like missing - Mass ; things never seem 

O Jo 

to go right all the day afterwards, if I do.” 

Marion glanced at Mrs. Darrell, but she said 
nothing. 

“ Well, and did you and Edith make any con- 
quests last night?” asked her mother. 

“What do you suppose, mamma? Why, if 
these had been the days of chivalry, I expect you 
would have had half a dozen heralds at the door 
by this time, all making proposals for the hands of 
your daughters at once. But as they do things 
more quietly now-a-days, I suppose they will not 
come.” 

“ No ; but seriously, Emily, how did the ball go 
off, and how did you enjoy yourself?” 

“The ball went off very well, just as I expected. 
There was a great deal of dancing in a very small 
space, a great deal of dress, and very little taste, 
and a great deal of laughing, flirting, and talking, 
but very little said, and — shall I go on, mamma ?” 


Trials and Triumphs . 277 

— — 

“ Yes, do ; what ?” 

“ Do not say anything about it to papa, or he 
might think me ungrateful ; but it seemed to me 
that a great deal of time and money had been 
expended for very little enjoyment.” 

”1 am sorry you did not enjoy yourself.” 

“ I did not say that, mamma, dear. I really got 
on very well, but you know I do not care for 
these things. I love a quiet dance at home, or a 
cosy little party around a winter’s fire, or a friendly 
picnic, or anything of that kind ; but I am a 
thorough home-bird, and should never care to put 
my nose outside the Cedars, except for church. I 
do love home !” and the sweet face brightened like 
a sunbeam. 

“ May you never tire of it, my darling.” 

“ Tire of it ! O, mamma ! that would be to 
tire of all of you ; for if you were not here, 
the Cedars would be as indifferent to me as any 
other place.” 

“ And how did Edith get on ?” 

“Very well, indeed; she at least thoroughly 
enjoyed herself, and when she had danced a little 
time, and grew excited, she really looked very 
nice. Those red geraniums suited her dark hair 
and complexion so well. As for Joe, he spent 
the greater part of his time with Dora.” 

“ With Dora! I thought Jessie was his favorite.” 
“ It seems not, for he took very little notice 
of her; nor do I think his attentions to Dora would 
have been so exclusive, but he knew so few of the 
girls there.” 


/ 


278 Marion Howard; or, 

“ Poor fellow ! These long voyages make him 
quite a stranger at home,” said his mother. 

Emily glanced anxiously at Marion. “ What- 
ever her feelings with regard to Joe, she is not 
jealous of him,” she thought. She was certainly 
not, for she did not even notice that he had been 
mentioned. She was at that moment deeply 
engrossed in recalling the conversation of the 
previous evening. The fact was, that Marion could 
think of nothing else, and it was not till Mrs. 
Darrell had addressed her twice, that she started 
from her reverie. 

“ It would be an insult to offer a penny for such 
th oughts as those,” said Emily; “ from the earnest 
expression of the face, I should say gold would 
not have bought them.” 

Marion laughed. “ I hardly know what I was 
thinking of myself; but it led me to the conclu- 
sion that this is a very strange world.” 

“A conclusion more true than original,” replied 
Emily. “ It is a very strange world, and in some 
things a very silly world; and I am afraid,” she 
added, almost in a whisper, “in many things a 
very dangerous one.” 

“ It is getting on for nine,” said Mrs. Darrell, 
looking at her watch; “it is almost time to start. 
As I cannot get those I want for you, here is a 
little book I should like you to look through. 
You read French, do you not? It is entitled, 
‘ Elevations sur la Saint e Encharistie it is in no 
way a controversial work, but a book of devo- 
tion. The subject is the Blessed Sacrament. I 


279 


Trials and Triumphs. 

— »" T~+-~ — ■ 

have often thought that if such volumes as these 
found their way more frequently into the hands 
of Protestants, they would do much more in 
teaching them what our religion really is, than 
any amount of controversy and discussion. Of 
course, the truth cannot be known unless it is 
explained ; but I am sure, if Protestants were to 
read such works they would be astonished at the 
depth of fervor they display — but dcpcchons nous!" 

It was in vain that Marion tried to fix her 
thoughts upon her book, although it bore so 
completely on the subject engrossing her mind. 
She closed it soon after the commencement of 
Mass, and remained during the rest of her time 
with her eyes riveted on the altar, weighing and 
re-weighing Mrs. Darrell’s words of the night 
before. 

“ I can well understand,” she thought, “ that con- 
verts to the Catholic religion must see everything 
in the world very differently to what they did 
before. God on the altar! Jesus among His peo- 
ple, as He was before His death !” and then she 
added for about the twentieth time that morning, 
“ It cannot be true, and I will not think any more 
about it.” But she did think for all that, again 
and again, and it was not till Mrs. Darrell touched 
her arm to tell her she was going, that she awoke 
from her dream. But amid all her pros and cons , 
Goldendiair forgot to pray, forgot to ask the 
Dweller on the altar to reveal His presence to 
her in His own way, and so she questioned and 
wondered on. 


28 o 


Marion Howard ; or, 

As they were leaving the church porch the little 
boy who had served Mass ran after them, and 
turning around, they saw the priest standing at the 
door of the Presbytery. 

“ I wanted to see you,” he said, as he ushered 
them into his little parlor, where his breakfast was 
prepared, “ to ask you to go and visit an old 
woman for me, who, finding herself really ill, is 
showing, they tell me, some signs of repentance, 
after staying away from the sacraments for thirty 
years. I was just going up to see her, when it 
struck me that a visit from you might do some 
good by way of preparation, more particularly as I 
fear the poor creature has been neglected during 
her illness. You have been instrumental in help- 
ing to save so many lost sheep, that I really should 
like you to see her. She lives in Spencer’s Gar- 
dens. You will easily find her out, I think.” 

“ O, I have a poor family there too,” said Emily; 
“ so I will go with mamma.” 

“ But what will Marion do ?” asked Mrs. Darrell. 
“ We had better walk home with her first.” 
u Spencer’s Gardens is a very short distance,” 
said Father Stirling. “ I should propose that Miss 
Howard stay here till you return. I dare say she 
will excuse me if I go on with my breakfast, for I 
assure you I begin to need it. Shall it be so ?” 
Marion answered with a smile. Father Stirling 
placed a chair for her by the fire, and the two 
ladies took their departure. 

“ Don’t you convert her, Father Stirling,” cried 
Emily, running back from the house door, where 


Trial. s and Triumphs . 


281 


her mother was condoling with the old house- 
keeper on her rheumatism. 

“ I am too busy,” said the priest, pouring out 
his coffee. 

“You have been very gay, I hear, up at the 
Cedars lately,” said Father Stirling, after a short 
conversation, the topic of which had been the 
warm hearts that had just quitted them. 

“ Rather.” 

“ We shall have you going back to Ennington 
quite a dissipated young lady. Did you enjoy 
yourself at the ball last night?” 

“I did not go,” returned Marion, “ on account 
of my cold.” 

“ I was thinking that you were out rather early, 
after such a night of hard work.” 

“ Emily went, though, and they did not get 
home till half-past four this morning, but she 
would not miss Mass.” 

Father Stirling smiled. “ Quite ri ght.” 

“A little longer sleep must have been a great 
temptation to her, though. I should never have 
resisted it.” 

“Perhaps not; every one is not Emily Darrell. 
I suppose you were disappointed in not going to 
the ball?” 

“No, indeed I was not; I do not like the idea 
of a public ball.” 

“I think, as a rule, they are best avoided; but 
you see, in this instance, Mr. Darrell’s party, with 
the friends they expected to meet there, would 

form quite a coterie; so that it was almost the 
24 * 


282 


Marion Howard ; or , 

same thing to Edith and Emily as a party at their 
own house.” 

“ But I am glad I did not go,” observed Marion. 
“ I spent a nice, quiet evening with Mrs. Darrell 
instead, and I made a discovery.” 

“ A discovery ! Of what kind ? Did you get 
among Mr. Darrell’s telescopes?” 

“ No ; we wandered among subjects higher even 
than the stars, and I learned something I never 
knew before.” 

“What was that?” asked Father Stirling, laying 
down his knife and fork. 

“ I learned for the first time what you believe in 
your doctrine of Transubstantiation, and why you 
believe it.” 

“And was that all?” 

“All! that has given me something to think 
about for the next month.” 

“ I could wish, dear child, that you had gone 
further still,” said the priest, “ and that beneath 
His sacrament you had found the Author of that 
Transubstantiation Himself” 

“ That could not be, Father Stirling,” replied the 
young girl, “ because He is not there. I have 
thought well over all that Mrs. Darrell said last 
night, but though I think the idea most beautiful, 
it is impossible.” 

“ Remember, you speak of God,” said the clergy- 
man. 

“I know that,” replied Marion; “ but the day of 
miracles is past, and God now adheres to the laws 
of nature in everything. For one substance to be 


Trials a 7 id Triumphs. 283 

changed instantaneously into another, would be 
contrary to those laws ; and though we know that 
God could set them aside (for He can do anything), 
still we know He never does.” 

“ I understand,” said Father Stirling, “you meant 
to say our belief was improbable, not impossible.” 
“ Well, yes, I think I did,” said Marion, after a 
few seconds’ consideration ; “ the word impossible, 
cannot, of course, apply to God.” 

“ Very well ; and you consider this doctrine impro- 
bable, because you say it is opposed to the laws of 
nature. But remember, to be opposed to the laws 
of nature is one thing, to be above them is another. 
The doctrine of the Blessed Trinity, which we hold 
in common, is not opposed to the laws of nature, 
although it is certainly above them. Human ideas 
of even the world around us are so limited, that 
things which at first sight seemed utter impossibil- 
ities have frequently seemed every-day facts in the 
end. What, think you, would our sires have said, 
even a hundred years ago, to the idea of their chil- 
dren travelling by steam, talking by the flash of an 
electrfc spark, painting by the sunbeam, and pass- 
ing with rapidity through the air, by the aid of an 
invisible fluid? And yet all things now enter into 
the every-day occurrences of life. 

“ Do not, however, for one moment think that I 
bring down this glorious doctrine of the Church 
to such a standard as this. I merely wish to show 
you that if things as purely natural as these would 
have been treated as hallucinations, because they 
would have been counted as impossible, people 


284 


Marion Howard ; or ) 


may easily consider things supernatural, things that 
never can be brought within the scope of human 
reason, as contrary to nature too. It is very 
strange that men see things every day in the 
material world which they cannot explain, and yet 
in the higher sphere of the spiritual world, they 
reject everything that cannot be demonstrated with 
the nicety of a mathematical problem. A man who 
cannot read the thoughts of his own child, disbe- 
lieves and scoffs, because he cannot penetrate the 
secrets of the Most High. Physicians tell us that 
in the course of a few years every particle of the 
human body has been renewed, but the process 
has been so gradual, that not a scar or spot has 
been removed, and very often not a feature altered. 
But for all this, does a man lose his identity ? 
Am not I, who according to this theory must have 
been renewed many times, the actual George Stir- 
ling of my youth? You may well smile, for this 
is a strange thing, and a thing hard to demonstrate, 
that a man should be at once the same, and yet 
a different being. A tiny infant comes into the 
world, in a few years a man six feet high stands 
in that infant’s place. Whence then has come this 
vast increase of bulk ? Has not food, solid and 
liquid, been changed into flesh and blood, bone 
and muscle ? This, my child, is no less strange 
than true. Suppose a being from another sphere 
who knows nothing of our world, were told that 
the oak tree once lay in the acorn shell. Would 
he credit you ? would he not say, ‘ impossible ?’ 
No, Miss Howard, man who lives in such a world 


Trials and Triumphs . 28 5 

as ours, a world that sprung into existence from 
nothing: at one word of its Creator, must beware 
how he talks of things that are simply above his 
comprehension, as contrary to Nature. But the 
spectacle of the world around us, may lead us to 
the appreciation of the far more wonderful things 
to be found in a higher sphere, though as earth is 
lower than heaven, so are God’s operations in the 
natural, lower than his revelations in the superna- 
tural. In the words of the poet, though in perhaps 
a different sense, man may look ‘through nature 
up to nature’s God,’ for he may tread with a firm 
foot the path of scientific investigation, if he will 
but remember that he is on holy ground. Then 
every step, as it leads him onward, shall lead him 
also upward, and as he has found wonders in the 
Kingdom of Nature, so shall he be prepared for 
miracles in the Kingdom of Grace, and mysteries 
in the Kingdom of Glory. 

“But then you tell me that the age of miracles 
has passed. Are you sure of this? If the Bible 
spoke of none after our Lord’s Ascension, I could 
better understand your assertion, but the Acts of 
the Apostles contain several. Or had this miracu- 
lous power extended only to the chosen twelve, 
I could have understood you better ; but the last 
chapter of the same book contains two miracles of 
St Paul, and he never even knew our Lord during 
the time of His mortal life on our earth. When, 
therefore, did it cease? Never, my child. The 
same God who turned water into wine at the 
marriage feast of Cana, who changed the Egyp- 


286 


Marion Howard ; or, 

tian river into blood, who transformed the rod 
of Moses into a serpent, and that serpent again 
into a rod, and who will one day call many a 
bri ght, glorified body from death and corruption, 
works His miracles still. Sometimes by human 
agency, as in the actions of the Apostles and sub- 
sequent saints ; sometimes by direct interference, 
as in the conversion of St. Paul ; sometimes by 
a secret act of His Almighty will, as in the myste- 
ries of the Altar.” 

He ceased, but Marion remained silent. 

“ Doubtless,” he added, “ in all that I have said, 
I have only repeated Mrs. Darrell’s words, for I 
have simply given you some plain and palpable 
reasons for not rejecting this doctrine, which must 
occur to every one.” 

“ No,” replied Marion, “ Mrs. Darrell spoke in a 
different way to me; she tried rather to make me 
understand what this doctrine is, and why Christ 
should institute such a sacrament, than to reconcile 
it, as you have been doing, with the dispensations 
of Providence generally. Father Stirling, I cannot 
tell you how I feel ; sometimes the idea of such a 
truth as this would be, seems heaven itself, and I 
feel as if I would give up everything to believe it; 
but then the thought comes over me, that to do so 
I must be a Catholic altogether, and there are many 
things in your religion that seem so very strange, 
almost dreadful to me, that I could never, never 
believe them.” 

“ Do not trouble yourself about them, my child; 
bend all your thoughts and prayers to this one 


Trials and Triumphs . 28 7 

subject, to this doctrine which, in spite of all 
your conflicting doubts, you half believe already.” 
Marion shook her head. “ It is impossible that 
it should be true, and yet that so many people 
should be ignorant of it.” 

“ Do you know how stand the comparative 
numbers of the Catholic and Protestant world ? 
In the last table I saw, the Catholics were com- 
puted at one hundred and ninety-five millions, and 
the Protestants at about seventy-seven millions ; so, 
you see, that although we make a comparatively 
small show in England, Scotland, and one or two 
other European countries, you must consider how 
we stand in Europe generally, in South America, 
and in a very large portion of North America. 
Why even the Greek Schismatics almost equal 
the Protestants ! But it is not by statistics that we 
can decide the truth or falsehood of a doctrine. 
Does not our Blessed Lord Himself say, ‘This 
is my Body, this is my Blood/ and dare we con- 
tradict Him?” 

“I have just thought of something,” said Marion, 
after a pause. “ Christ says, ‘ I am the vine, ye are 
the branches/ Does Pie not speak figuratively 
here ?” 

“ Of course He does, in the same way as when 
He calls himself the door of the sheepfold. Pie 
chose to be born the Son of an eastern nation, and 
He loved to use eastern metaphor.” 

“ Then why may He not have used metaphor in 
instituting the Eucharist?” 

“In one sense He did ; for bread, that is the sup- 


288 


Marion Howard ; or ; 


port of human life, is a beautiful metaphor of Him 
who is the food and sustenance of souls. But 
then our Lord had prevented His words from 
being understood only in a metaphorical sense by 
having already approved and praised His apostles 
foi accepting His promise, that He would give 
them His flesh to eat in a literal sense. ‘Then* 
said Jesus to His disciples, Will you also go 
away ?’ Besides, bread and wine in then'iselves do 
.not convey to us the idea of something else, as a 
statue or picture does; and you must remember, 
moreover, that when our Lord pronounced the 
words of consecration, He had not said anything 
from which the apostles could gather that He was 
going to institute bread as a sign of something 
else; so that when we read that He took some- 
thing (a piece of bread) in His hand, and emphati- 
cally declared, ‘ This is my Body,’ the apostles 
could only understand Him as declaring what that 
was which He held in His hand; and when He 
says that it is His Body, shall I not believe Him, 
and accept with my whole heart and soul the 
affirmation of Infinite Wisdom ? I remember an 
answer once given by an old man to a scoffer, 
which afforded him a great deal of amusement, but 
which made an indelible impression upon me, boy 
as I was at the time. He was a very old man, 
with silvery hair, and I can see him now sitting 
at his cottage table, poring over his Bible. 

“‘You don’t mean to say that you believe all 
that, do you ?’ asked the person alluded to, (one of 
the woulu-be wits of the rising generation — young 


2S9 


Trials and Triumphs. 

men who disbelieve because it is fashionable to do 
so, but without knowing why,) 'you don’t mean to 
say that you believe all that !’ 

"‘Every word, master,’ said old William. 

“ ‘ You are surely not fool enough to believe 
that the whale swallowed Jonah alive, and then 
spit him out again upon dry land ?’ 

" ‘ Master, I should believe that Jonah swallowed 
the whale, if the Bible said so,’ returned old 
William, ‘ because it is the word of God.’ 

"And old William’s answer is quite in the spirit 
of the Church. Our blessed Lord holds a piece of 
bread in His hand, saying, ‘This is my Body,’ and 
I believe Blim. Without pointing to any object 
while showing His disciples how they must depend 
on Him in all their spiritual life, He represents 
Himself as a vine or door. Had He pointed to 
any object, however small, however strange, how- 
ever apparently insignificant, I should have be- 
lieved Him, had He only said, ‘ Behold me !’ But 
this He never did, nor was there ever any sect in 
existence that believed in the actual presence of 
our Lord under any form, except the Catholic one, 
in the sacrament of the altar.” 

A silence of many minutes ensued, as Father 
Stirling began to stir his cold coffee in an abstracted 
manner. When at length he raised his eyes to 
glance at his little visitor, he pitied her amid the 
shadow of perplexity that had fallen on her young 
face. 

" I never thought,” said she at length, “ that the 

word of God could be so difficult to interpret.” 

25 


2go 


Marion Howard ; or, 


“ Then do not try to interpret it, dear child, by 
your own private judgment, or every moment you 
will advance still deeper into the mire of perplexity. 
Take, rather, the inspired interpretation of St. Paul, 
‘the chalice of Benediction which we bless, is it not 
the communion of the Blood of Christ? and the 
Bread that we break, is it not the partaking of the 
Body of the Lord ?’ Or going higher still, bow in 
simple faith at the words of Jesus Christ, ‘and the 
Bread that I will give thee is My Flesh, for the life 
of the world.’ ” 

As the priest uttered these words in a tone 
intense in its devotion, Marion trembled. Once 
more there was a silence, broken, however, shortly 
afterwards by the sound of footsteps on the garden 
path. 

“ Mrs. Seymour and her daughters,” said Father 
Stirling, glancing at the window. 

“I could not speak to them just now, really,” 
cried Marion, rising from her chair; “are they 
coming here ?” 

“Yes, for a short time, but you need not see 
them; come with me;” and crossing the passage he 
opened a small door. “ Go into the church, my 
child; you will find One there, who can tell you 
more in a heart-whisper, than I could do in the 
years of the longest lifetime.” 

Mrs. Seymour’s visit lasted longer than Father 
Stirling had anticipated, and before it was con- 
cluded, Mrs. Darrell and Emily returned from their 
visit to Spencer’s Gardens. 

As soon as the former had taken their departure, 


291 


Trials and Triumphs . 

and the, latter had given an account, spiritual and 
temporal, of the old woman, Father Stirling entered 
upon the subject of Marion Howard. “She is 
even now,” said he, in conclusion, “ upon her knees 
before the Blessed Sacrament. If, however, you 
will take my advice, you will not mention the 
subject of religion to her. Answer all her ques- 
tions, pray for her very hard, offer your communion 
for her, and leave the issue to God.” 




CHAPTER XV. 



f LTHOUGH from this time Marion’s mind was 
| in a great measure occupied by one subject, 
no casual observer would have said that any- 
thing more than usual interested her. She 
laughed, chatted, danced, rode, and even, under the 
patronage of Dora and Jessie, began to skate. 
She wrote regular accounts to her mamma of her 
gay life at Harleyford, visited the poor with Mrs. 
Darrell, helped with the Christmas trees at the 
schools, seeming in all things to live only in the 
excitement of the present moment. Only He who 
witnessed those long night prayers, in which the 
little weary soul struggled with its convictions at 
His feet, knew that amid all her merriment one 
thought was ever uppermost. 

“ I cannot bear it any longer,” she exclaimed, 
one Saturday night, about a fortnight after her 
conversation with the priest; “ I cannot bear it! 
I must see Father Stirling again, and tell him all I 
think and feel,” and she gazed through her tears at 
“ Keenan” and the little black Bible, both of which 
lay open before her. “ This little book,” she con- 
tinued, taking up the former, “has been like a 
fairy wand, revealing hidden treasure. The Catho- 
292 


293 


Trials and Triumphs. 

lie religion must be true ; the chain of reasoning 
that proves it is so perfect. But somehow, though 
I understand, I cannot feel it; I seem half stupefied 
by the rush of thoughts that the subject brings 
with it, and hardly seem to pray at all. If I look 
into the future now, I can realize nothing, and 
I feel frightened. It is all very well to think 
about the Catholic Religion here, at the Cedars, in 
the bosom of a Catholic family, but what would it 
be to return to Ennington ? What would mamma 
say? what would she do? What would every one 
in the village think and say — my class at the 
school — the people that I visit — Edward — Mr. 
Lisle?” But on these last two names, Marion 
dared not, and did not dwell. Notwithstanding 
the pliability of her disposition, she could be firm ; 
and from the moment she commenced to study the 
subject, it was with a strong determination, come 
what might, to follow the truth. Her fire had 

burned very low before she rose from her knees ; 

and when at last she lay down, it was not to 

sleep, for she tossed about restlessly till the morn- 

in or 
“S' 

That day Marion attended the service at the 
Protestant church. It is rather to be feared, 

however, that the pastoral address of the Rev. 
Mr. Gardiner received but small attention from 
our little heroine, whose thoughts would fly where 
she least wished ; and then more than one letter 
was written in imagination to Edward, and more 
than one scene pictured with another, dearer still. 

“ How wicked this is !” was her self-accusation, 


294 Marion Howard ; or , 

as she shook back her curls in vexation. “ I shall 
very likely remain a Protestant, after all.” 

Marion stayed a short time after the dismissal of 
th e congregation, to look at some mural tablets. 
As she was about to pass out of the church door 
she perceived Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner on the step 
before her. With a slight bow she would have 
passed on, but her former spiritual physician, who 
had recognized her, held out his hand. 

“ Miss Howard, I believe?” 

Marion smiled. 

“ I am glad to see you looking somewhat 
brighter than when I saw you four or five years 
ago. And somewhat grown too, eh? How young 
people spring up, to be sure ! — Miss Howard, my 
love.” 

The lady bowed very frigidly. 

“ Staying at the Cedars, I presume ?” resumed 
Mr. Gardiner. 

Marion replied in the affirmative. 

“ I wonder you are not afraid to trust your- 
self there !” 

“ Why should I be so ?” 

“ For fear of getting converted, or, rather, per- 
verted.” 

“I love Mrs. Darrell’s family too well to fear them.’' 

“ Humph ! Depend upon it, they will try. Trust 
a Romanist for leaving no stone unturned to make 
a proselyte !” 

“Is that a discredit to them?” inquired Marion. 
“ What good would it do them individually, if all 
the world were Catholic ?” 


295 


'Trials and Triumphs. 

“This good; that they imagine their own salva- 
tion insured, if they can only, by hook or by 
crook, make one convert.” 

“ Excuse me, if I say I think you are mistaken 
in attributing such a belief to them,” replied 
Marion, beginning to feel annoyed at Mr. Gardi- 
ner’s manner. “ But even if it were so, one could 
hardly blame them for zeal in saving their own 
souls, as well as another person’s at the same 
time. Besides, however they may strive to fur- 
ther, or bring about conversions, we must remem- 
ber that people can only become Catholics by their 
own free will and deed.” 

“ Ah, young lady, you do not understand them 
quite as well as I do !” returned Mr. Gardiner. 
“ They have a hundred ways of making black 
white, and wrong right. The less one has to do 
with them the better, I say. I warn you especially, 
mind, against that priest — Father Stirling, I believe 
they call him, a thorough Jesuit. He had better 
take care, or I shall be down on him some day.” 

Marion’s cheeks told that she was in a state of 
quiet suffocation. 

“ If he would keep away from my congregation,” 
continued the clergyman, “and confine himself to 
his own Irishmen, I should not care. What busi- 
ness has he to interfere with Protestants, I should 
like to know, ‘ creeping into houses, leading cap- 
tive silly women !’ ” 

“What is the matter now?” asked Mrs. Gardi- 
ner, sharply. 

“ That he has induced one or two more silly 


296 


Marion Howard; or , 


fools to give up their religion, and go to his 
gingerbread chapel. Only look at Mr. Darrell’s 
lodge-keeper. He never rested till he had induced 
her to go over.” 

Marion could restrain herself no longer. “ Father 
Stirling never spoke to her in his life, Mr. Gardi- 
ner,” she exclaimed, “ until she called on him of 
her own accord, to speak to him about religion. 
May I ask if you know Father Stirling per- 
sonally ?” 

“ Not I. I never spoke to him in my life. ,> 

“ It is a great pity, for I am sure you would 
like him, if you knew him as he is. A more per- 
fect gentleman I never met, and he is as amiable 
as he is intelligent.” 

“Humph!” said Mr. Gardiner, “all the more 
dangerous. Did you ever hear of ‘ whited sepul- 
chres ?’ ” 

“ Often, but what have they to do with Father 
Stirling ?” 

A sarcastic smile was the clergyman’s only 
reply. 

“ Do you intend honoring our school treat next 
Wednesday?” he asked, suddenly changing the 
subject. 

“Next Wednesday? I am sorry to say I am 
already engaged for the Catholic one. Mrs. Darrell 
has given a Christmas tree, and I have promised to 
help distribute the presents.” 

“ If I give you a little piece of advice, Miss How- 
ard, will vou be offended ?” 

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Gardiner, I think I 


Trials and Triumphs . 297 

very likely shall. You might say what you pleased 
of myself, and I would take it in good part; but 
when you speak of the religion and friends of Mr. 
and Mrs. Darrell as you did just now, I do feel 
very angry. You will think me rude in saying 
this, perhaps ; but although I have been among 
Catholics ever since I left home, I can assure you 
that your words this morning have been the only 
unkind ones I have heard all the time I have been 
at Harleyford. Good morning,” and Marion pass- 
ing quickly on, left the pastor at the gate of his 
own church, looking very angry and uncomfort- 
able. 

“ How stupid you are, to be sure, about Catho- 
lics !” exclaimed his wife. “ I know you will never 
cease, till you get into hot water with every one in 
the parish ; you are already on bad terms with the 
Churchwardens, and at daggers drawn with the 
Guardians. I wonder how much the Dissenters 
care whether you approve of their love-feasts or 
not, while, as for the Romanists, of course they 
make fun of you ; and can they help laughing, 
when they see their very name act on you like the 
red cloak on a Spanish bull ? How you bothered 
that poor girl, just because she happens to be stay- 
ing with Catholics ! Half the good families are 
growing disgusted, and you will soon have your 
congregation getting as sick and tired of such non- 
sense as I am.” 

“ I must do my duty, nevertheless,” replied her 
husband. 

“Your duty!” she repeated impatiently; “it 


298 


Marion Howard ; or, 

seems a strange kind of duty that consists in your 
setting your own parishioners by the ears with 
each other ! You must begin to practice what you 
preach, depend upon it, if you want to do your 
duty.” 

Poor Mr. Gardiner groaned under the yoke of 
his Xantippe, and writhed beneath the rattle of 
his golden fetters. 

That afternoon, much to the delight of Joe and 
his sisters, Marion went with them to church. 
Father Stirling preached, and his subject was the 
manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles. First he 
told the story of the Star of Bethlehem shedding 
its mild light over the pagan world, and of the three 
kings that followed it, leaving their thrones and 
diadems, to seek an Infant, lying in a manger. 
Then he spoke of the Star of Truth, whose soft ray 
gleams suddenly on the hitherto darkened vision 
and li ghts up a path that must be followed, even 
though it should lead from riches to poverty, and 
from honor to contempt. He counted the cost of 
such a passage faithfully, but described the glori- 
ous recompense to be found for its sacrifices in the 
treasure-house of the Church, of the love of God, and 
the prayers of Mary ; and while his eyes gleamed 
with fervor, and his voice trembled with emotion, he 
spoke of the Sacred Heart; spoke of it with its 
human yearning and divine love, its earthly sym- 
pathies and its almighty power. He talked of the 
dying life to be lived for God, of the living 
death for the world, and of that interior life which 
is the soul that animates all the Christian virtues. 


Trials and Triumphs. 299 

And then, turning suddenly to the altar, he 
stretched forth his hand, and appealed to God 
Himself, as a witness to the truth of every word 
that he had uttered. The action was a momentary 
impulse, but it touched one little Protestant to the 
heart, and from that moment Marion Howard felt 
that Jesus, God and Man, was before her in the 
Tabernacle. Her head had been convinced, her 
heart was now penetrated, and when the little bell 
tinkled amidst the hushed breath of the congrega- 
tion, when the benediction, not of earth, fell on 
the kneeling worshippers, Marion, like a second 
Thomas, cried, prostrate before the same Lord and 
Master, “ My Lord and my God !” 

The two sisters and Joe lingered in the church 
so long after benediction, that the afternoon twi- 
light faded into darkness, but still Marion remained 
with Father Stirling, whom she had sought at the 
close of the service. It would be hard to say 
which of the three prayed the most devoutly in 
the dark church, whose only light was the fitful 
gleam of the tabernacle. It was a solemn hour 
to each, especially to the young sailor, whose warm 
heart had clung to the little heretic, even from 
their childhood, and he bowed his head before the 
image of Mary, and prayed long and fervently. 

When at last Marion joined them, it was in 
company with Father Stirling, and they all returned 
to the Cedars. While the girls were up stairs the 
priest mentioned Marion’s visit to his friends. “ She 
has commissioned me to tell you this,” he observed, 
in conclusion, “ and I can say, never in my life have 


300 Marion Howard ; or, 

I seen any one so resolved in so short a period of 
time. She has made good use of her visit to you, 
for she already understands all the leading doc- 
trines of the Church quite well. I was many times 
astonished at the pertinence of her remarks, and 
the depth of her questions and answers. She 
seems very intelligent.” 

Joe’s eyes danced with pleasure. 

“ Well, Father, you have indeed brought us 
good news,” said Mr. Darrell. 

“ There are one or two points she is rather 
uninstructed in, even now,” said Father Stirling. 
“ But she must come to me as often as she likes.” 
“ I wonder whether she will meet with much oppo- 
sition,” said Mr. Darrell, musingly. “ I should not 
much like to have to play at cross purposes with 
that mother of hers. She has wonderfully softened 
down of late, I believe ; but she used to have a tre- 
mendous spirit.” 

“As a school girl, she certainly had,” observed 
his wife. 

“ O, later than that, my dear. I never saw much 
of her before her marriage, but I know that poor 
Howard never got on so well with her as when he 
let her have her own way. I have often heard 
him say, that she could bear anything better than 
contradiction, and this is unfortunately just what 
she will have now, and I feel half afraid.” 

“ But she is very fond of Marion,” returned his 
wife ; “ and as this is, I am sure, the first time that 
the child has ever acted contrary to her wishes in 
life, I have no doubt the storm will soon blow over; 


3° i 


Trials and Triumphs . 

at any rate, it will not do to meet troubles half 
way. I think it is only natural though, that Protes- 
tant parents should feel these things severely; 
fancy what we should endure if it was one of our 
children.” 

“If I turned Mormonite, for instance, or went 
over to Mr. Gardiner,” said Joe. 

“ The cases are not parallel,” replied Father Stir- 
ling ; “ where is the Catholic parent who would not 
rather see his son dead than that he should come 
to this ? But, if Protestants felt as deeply, would 
they allow their children to read the books of other 
sects, and go to other places of worship, as they 
do?” 

“ I think Marion will make a good little Catholic,” 
observed Mrs. Darrell. 

“As far as I can judge,” replied Father Stirling, 
“ it seems to have been the doctrine of the Real 
Presence that first attracted her. She herself traces 
everything to her conversation with you, the even- 
ing before you both called upon me.” 

Mrs. Darrell smiled. “ Does it not seem,” she 
observed, “ that there are some minds into which 
a belief in the Blessed Sacrament flashes instan- 
taneously, like light into a room the moment the 
shutters are opened?” 

“ Exactly so ; and you have been very happy 
to have been the first to unbar those shutters.” 

“Not so, Father,” replied the lady; “they were 
too hard and high for me, though I tried my best; 
it was your strong hand, after all, that let in the 
light.” 


26 


302 Marion Howard ; or, 

“Non nobis Do mine, sed no mini tno da glorium ” 
sang the priest, as the girls reentered the room. 

They spent a very happy evening; Joe was 
full of fun, and told sea stories and college scrapes 
by the dozen. Father Stirling and Mr. Darrell 
played at chess in one corner, while Edith and 
Emily played and sang. Every one was sur- 
prised when ten o’clock struck, none more so than 
Marion, who had been chatting with Mrs. Darrell 
during the greater part of the evening. 

“ You have not felt quite so uncomfortable about 
the Catholic Sunday to-night, as you did some few 
years since, have you ?” asked the latter of her 
young companion. 

“No; but even then Father Stirling made me 
so thoroughly see the spirit of Catholic Sunday 
recreations, that I could never misunderstand them 
again.” 

“The Church, dear child,” said Mrs. Darrell, “is 
too jealous a guardian of her children’s souls to 
countenance anything injurious to their spiritual 
welfare, and that she not only permits, but encour- 
ages such recreations, is shown by Father Stirling’s 
presence amongst us to-night. Do as the Church 
tells you, and all responsibility is immediately 
shifted from you to her ; she bears the burden, 
while you go free. O, Marion! if there be a 
liberty on earth, it is in the obedience rendered by 
the Catholic to his Church. Can you understand 
this? Perhaps not yet.” 

“ Yes, I think I can. A Catholic is like a child, 
who acts simply in obedience to its mother.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 303 

“ With this difference,” replied Mrs. Darrell; 
“ an earthly parent, with all her solicitude, may 
misdirect her child, whereas, the Church cannot 
err. I know, of course, that you already under- 
stand this well; but just let me hear you explain, 
in your own words, this ‘terrific dogma/ the Infalli- 
bility of the Church. Fancy that I am mamma, 
and that you are trying to convince her that you 
have done right in becoming a Catholic.” 

A shadow fell across poor Marion’s face, and 
she sighed heavily; but she shook back her 
curls, as was her wont in making a fresh determi- 
nation. 

“ Really, Mrs. Darrell,” she exclaimed, cheer- 
fully, “ I have thought comparatively little about 
the authority or the infallibility of the Church. 
My one idea has been the Blessed Sacrament. 
I know that our Lord is upon the altar with us, 
and I cannot think He would leave His Church in 
error, and yet be with it unceasingly.” 

“ I perfectly understand you, my dear child,” 
replied her friend; “but though this feeling of calm 
repose is, as far as I can jud the best disposition 
for you individually, still it will not do for mamma, 
and still less for Mr. Lisle, for I suppose you will 
have to give a reason to him also for ‘ the hope 
that is in you,’ will you not ?” 

The warm blood shot across Golden-hair’s cheeks 
and brow, and then back again to her heart, leaving 
her paler than before. Not Curtius himself, not the 
Decii, ever gave life more heroically than Marion 
Howard now laid the happiness of her life upon the 


304 Marion Howard ; or , 

altar of conscience, nor was the sacrifice less pre- 
cious, that it was made in silence. Quick as she 
was, Mrs. Darrell did not read the troubled look 
aright, but supposed that it simply arose from dread 
of the controversy she had imagined. 

“ I dare not think yet of what any one in Enning- 
ton may say to me,” replied she ; “ I can only put 
my trust in God. When the moment to answer 
their questions arrives, I must look to Him to tell 
me what to say; but it is a moment I truly dread.’' 
And absorbed by painful thoughts, Marion sat for 
some few minutes looking silently into the fire. 

“ May I ask what it is, that is so to be dreaded ?” 
asked Father Stirling, who, having finished his 
game, now seated himself at the centre-table. 

Mrs. Darrell repeated the conversation. 

“ God Himself, my dear Miss Howard," said the 
priest, “ has flashed the whole truth upon your 
mind at once, rather than suffered you to learn it 
word by word, and line by line. As to myself, it was 
much longer before I saw my way into the Church, 
though, looking back, I cannot imagine how I 
could ever have been so blind as not to see the 
marks that evidently distinguish her as the spouse 
of Jesus Christ." 

“ I wish, Father Stirling, you would tell me just a 
little about the infallibility of the Church." 

“ I am afraid it is rather late to commence such 
a subject this evening," said the priest, looking at 
his watch ; “ but I dare say I shall have time to say 
a few words upon it before supper ; at any rate, I 
can give you the salient points, which you can 


305 


Trials and l rhimphs. 

afterwards study for yourself. To commence then, 
Miss Howard, I would remark that Protestants as 
well as Catholics admit the fact, that before our 
Blessed Lord left the world He established a 
Church. The former are, however, as usual, 
divided on the subject; for by the term Church 
they mean a distinct body, such as the ‘ Church of 
En gland ;’ while others, Dissenters for instance, take 
it simply to imply those who are faithful to God,- 
let them belong to whatever denomination they 
may. The latter doctrine cannot, however, relate 
to the visible body of Christ’s Spouse on earth, and 
it is to this that He has promised infallibility in His 
pastors, and which He has commanded us, as His 
flock, to obey; for a body of believers whose mem- 
bership should consist only in internal acts, could 
be recognized only by the eye of God Himself, and 
could not be said to constitute a visible Church. 

“ According to the Catechism, the Church of 
Christ must have four marks — she must be One, 
Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic. One, for there must 
be one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism — Holy, for 
God Himself is holy, and the Church that leads us 
to Him must be holy too — Catholic, for it must 
‘teach all nations’ — Apostolic, because to the 
Apostles alone — ‘ go ye and teach ’ — was delegated 
the care of souls. Let us consider the first ques- 
tion of unity. I can assure you,” and he turned to 
Mrs. Darrell, “that, although I lived for twenty-six 
years among Protestants, I rarely found two who 
thought alike on every doctrine of religion. Leav- 
ing individuals, however, out of the question, we 


3°6 


Marion Howard ; or , 

will speak only of their general disunion, and that 
only with regard to important doctrines. Take, for 
instance, the subject of Baptismal Regeneration. 
Can any article of faith be more important, more 
momentous than this? Now, I remember once, 
when I was a young man, asking a clergyman of 
the Anglican Church, one of the ‘ Evangelical party,’ 
why infants were baptized. As a matter of course 
lie could not tell me, because, poor fellow, he dared 
not say on tradition, (which is the actual fact,) and 
yet by no manner or means could he wrest any 
text of the Scriptures into a warrant for infant 
baptism. So he said a great deal about ‘ Suffer 
little children to come unto me,’ which has nothing 
to do with the question, and talked of St. Paul 
baptizing the household of Stephanas, amongst 
which, he said, most likely there were some little 
children,* but that was all ; and when I asked him 
what baptismal regeneration meant, he said it was 
a popish superstition, for though baptism conferred 
a certain grace on the soul, it could not in any w r ay 
remit sin. What he made of our Lord’s words, 
4 Ye must be born again of water and the Spirit,’ 
I have not the slightest idea. Not very long after 
this I heard the following words from a Church of 
England pulpit: ‘ If your infant be sick, brethren, 
bring him to the font ; do not delay ; have him 
baptized at once, or you will never meet your child 
in heaven.’ What, then, is the teaching of the 
Anglican Church ? Does she believe baptism to 
be regenerative or not? Christ promised to lead 


* An answer actually returned. 


307 


Trials and Triumphs. 

His Church into all truth, when the Spirit of Truth 
should come. What, then, can truth be coincident 
with two such extremes as heaven, and no heaven 
for the unbaptized child ? The sweet and bitter 
water from the same fountain were nothing to this. 
Again, there are churches, belonging to the Angli- 
can Establishment, in which the communion is 
celebrated frequently, (in some I have been told 
every morning), and in this communion some of 
the communicants believe that they receive the 
Body and Blood of Christ ; while others, and 
indeed the greater part, believe that what they 
receive is mere bread and wine. Now, what does 
this latter extreme say to the tenets of the first 
extreme of this same church on this point? Does 
it find any epithet too harsh with which to brand 
such papistical innovations? Yet, these two classes 
are members of the same church, both professing 
union with the one Lord, one faith, one baptism ! 
What does the Low-churchman say to that answer 
in his own Catechism touching the communion, 
‘that the inward part or thing signified, is the Body 
and Blood of Christ, which are verily and indeed 
taken and received by the faithful in the Lord’s 
Supper?’ What does he say to the confession 
heard in the Tractarian Church, or to the transla- 
tion, almost verbatim, into English, of the absolu- 
tion we give, and which, poor man, he is obliged to 
read in his visitation of the sick ? What does he 
say to the fasts, still marked by his own prayer 
book, and still practised so religiously by members 
of his own church ? What of that proudly vaunted 


308 Marion Howard ; or ; 

succession, so gloried in by his own brethren? 
Why, he laughs at it all, and styles those brethren 
fools! In short, the Low-churchman looks upon 
his Puseyite brother as a sort of connecting link 
between truth and error, very much in the same 
theological world what the ape is in the natural 
one, forgetting that as members of the same 
church, they must stand or fall together. And 
what says the High-churchman in his turn? 
Why, he despises his Low-church brother from 
his very heart, talks of him as bringing scandal 
upon the church, classes him with the Dissenters, 
laughs at him, derides him, but cannot ignore him, 
uncomfortable eye-sore though he be ! ‘ Behold, 

he shall lead you unto all truth,’ is an awkward 
text for a church, one-half of whose children 
anathematizes the most cherished doctrines of the 
other. 

“ With regard to the second mark that is to 
distinguish the Spouse of Christ, her holiness, do 
we find it in the Anglican Church ? Can the 
respectability of her modern pastors and professors 
merit this glorious attribute for a religion whose 
doctrines were disseminated by secular authority, 
represented in the persons of royal tyrants and 
sacrilegious nobles? A simple negative may seem 
to be a summary disposal of the subject; but do we 
need more, while the infamous characters of the 
first reformers, so-called, are patent to every one 
who has courage to learn the truth, and while the 
history of their so-called Reformation is familiar to 
us, in all its hideous details, as the nursery rhymes 


Trials and Triumphs . 


309 


of our babyhood ? Let Protestants answer the 
question that fell from the lips of our Divine Lord : 
* Shall men gather figs from thorns, and grapes 
from thistles ?’ and then, if they can, let them look 
for holiness in the religion of Luther, Zwinglius, or 
Calvin ! 

“The third point of the church, her Catholicity, 
need hardly be touched upon in reference to the 
English Church, and that, for the simple reason 
that she is the only Church of a portion of one 
nation, having neither position, power, nor jurisdic- 
tion, in any country but England and a few of its 
colonies. She is essentially a National Institution, 
and nothing more. 

“ The fourth point, namely, the claim of Angli- 
canism to the apostolic succession, we will consider 
presently. Let us now look into the Catholic 
Church, and let us see on what she founds her 
title to be the One, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic 
Church of Christ. Just now I told you I had 
never found two Protestants whose creed was pre- 
cisely the same ; now, with my hand upon my 
heart, I tell you, that I have rare-ly found two 
Catholics to differ. Go back with me to those 
days when Jesus, seated among his chosen twelve, 
first spoke these words : ‘ Thou art Peter, and 
upon this rock I will build My Church, and the 
gates of hell shall not prevail against it.’ The 
ark floating on the dark waters of the flood, is 
a splendid metaphor of that Church, within the 
precincts of which safety alone is to be found.” 

“ But people may be saved who are out of 


3io Marion Howard; or, 

the Church, you said this afternoon,” replied Ma- 
rion. 

“Out of the visible Church, my child; but the 
Church of Christ always considers those as her 
children who have been baptized. God is not 
a hard task-master, looking to reap where He 
has not sown. We have good reason even to 
believe, that the truth is frequently revealed to 
such souls, in those long, silent hours that so often 
precede dissolution. We have, moreover, the hope, 
that he who has kept faithful in the uncertain 
gloom, while others have sometimes unhappily, 
stumbled in full li giit, receives his reward accord- 
ingly. But, to return to our subject, namely, the 
unity of the Catholic Church. Do not even her 
enemies admit her unchangeableness ? What she 
was in her earliest days, when her Bishops were 
ex-fishermen, and her temples the catacombs of 
Rome, she now is. Does any proud spirit attempt 
an innovation; the thunders of her excommunica- 
tion fall upon him, and he may call himself what he 
will, but he is cut off from her, plucked out, cast 
away, till he repent, or until he is summoned to 
answer for his despised birthright, at the bar of the 
great assize. 

“ If you, Miss Howard, knowing as much as 
you do now of our religion, were to ask me 
what proof I should give of the holiness of the 
Church, I should tell you that the best and truest 
answer is the one that lies most deeply buried in 
the recesses of a Catholic heart. I speak of that 
sweet familiarity with the sacraments and sacrifice 


Trials and Triumphs. 3 1 1 

of the Church, that I trust will, in God’s own 
time, flood with its intensity the whole of your 
being. But if a Protestant asked me this, your 
mamma for instance, I should return again to the 
little Catechism, and tell her that ‘the Church is 
holy because she teaches a holy doctrine, offers to 
all the means of holiness, and is distinguished by 
the eminent holiness of so many thousands of her 
children.’ Of course she would say this was simply 
assertion, and would ask for proof. Then I should 
compare the Church to one of those grand old 
temples, raised by our fathers to the glory of God, 
and should show her that as in them, every line of 
their architecture points to, and culminates in the 
sanctuary, so in the Church every dogma, every 
doctrine, every symbol, every ceremony points to, 
and culminates in the Hill of Calvary. Then I 
should speak of the seven Sacraments. Of Bap- 
tism, that sets its seal forever on the brow from 
which it has chased the shadow of original sin. 
Of Confirmation, that seals the soul to all eternity, 
as the shrine of the Holy Ghost. Of Ordination, 
that seals for life and death, the heart, the hand, 
the whole of the priest to God. I should tell her 
of Penance, that removes the sinner from his sin, as 
far as the east is from the west; of Matrimony, 
that blesses the joys and sorrows of life; of Ex- 
treme Unction, that soothes the departing soul ; 
and then I would tell her of the Ploly Eucharist, 
the sun and life of man below. She could not tell 
me that these seven mystical pillars of the Church 
were not means of holiness, and I should go on to 


312 


Marion Howard ; or, 

tell her of the eminent holiness of the children of 
that Church. Of the Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins, 
Widows, and Hermits; of her clergy, regular and 
secular; of her Religious Orders, active, con- 
templative, and ascetic, that have graced every age 
of Christianity; and of the pious souls, not the 
less saintly because perhaps unseen, who are 
gracing it now. In answer to this, she would 
tell me of the purity of the Protestant religion. 
I should point inflexibly to its originators and 
promoters. She would tell me how Protestantism 
teaches the love of God, and belief in Jesus Christ 
as the Saviour. I should speak of the flower 
plucked off from the plant, fair to a certain extent 
with the beauty of the parent tree, preserved for a 
short time by artificial means, but doomed to 
die, nay, dying, because it had no root. She 
would point finally to Protestant piety, and I to 
something deeper still, inasmuch as the fire-tried 
constancy of solid virtue is deeper than the regu- 
larity of a life free from gross sin. Protestantism 
takes a man as he appears, the Church as he is 
before God, tried and tested. If you only knew 
anything of the process of canonization, and how 
strict and searching it is, you would understand 
better what I mean. Protestantism can appreciate 
good men, but that is all. She cannot go with the 
Church into highways and byways, into retired 
cells and broken down hovels, and bring forth 
names long eminent in heaven, though perhaps 
unknown to the great world. And even could she 
find such names, she could not try them as the 


Trials and Triumphs. 313 

Church tries them, in a seven-fold heated furnace 
of inquiry, or weigh them as she weighs them, in 
the balances of perfection. And how, you will 
say, can the Catholic Church do this ? Simply 
because the Spirit of God is to guide her into all 
truth. His is the unerring hand that has raised 
each saint to the altars of the Church, in the same 
way that His has been the Voice that had called 
each to a sanctity as much surpassing natural 
virtue, as the New Jerusalem, that shall have its 
foundation in the everlasting hills, shall surpass the 
cities that are founded on the ephemeral rock of 
this world. 

“ It would be an insult to your historical and 
geographical knowledge to talk to you of the 
universality of the Church. Truly, most truly is 
she Catholic ; and that in the widest acceptation 
of the term, for she covers the earth as the waters 
cover the sea ! She enters with her sweet intru- 
siveness wherever men will let her, teaching ever 
that one same doctrine which without intermission 
she has taught throughout all the ages of the 
Christian era. The world has sent its votaries 
abroad — so has she. Ambition has conquered 
kingdoms — she has subdued hearts. Self-interest 
has conciliated savage tribes — she has lived among 
them or died beneath their weapons ; and when 
enterprise and science have gone forth, ploughing 
the oceans, visiting unknown lands, wandering in 
arid deserts, and penetrating pathless forests, meekly 
she has followed in their wake, gleaning what they 

despised for the garner of God. Nor do we find 
27 


314 Marion Howard; or , 

her in these distant lands only in the persons of 
venturing missionaries, these, and the bones of 
these, are to be found in every quarter of the 
globe ; but v/e find also churches firmly established, 
congregations ever increasing, complete hierarchies 
dependent on the See of Rome. Yes, truly Catho- 
lic, for as the morning sun passes on its way, 
lighting up a dawn in every land on which it 
sheds its beams, in all the twenty-four hours there 
is not a sun-rise that is not welcomed at some point 
of its meridian, by the ‘ Sanctus , sanctns , sanctus / 
of the Mass. 

“ We reserved the claims set forth by the Protes- 
tant establishment to be the Church founded by 
Jesus Christ, and built lip by the Apostles, that 
we might consider them with those of the Catholic 
Church. It would be a protracted though easy 
task to dispose of the conflicting definitions of 
the apostolic succession, given by the high, low, 
moderate, and broad church party, but as you 
are only interested in those with whose sentiments 
you have all your life sympathized, I need say very 
little on the subject. We will not therefore suffer 
the breath of inquiry to approach that fine point, 
so carefully polished and jealously guarded by the 
Tractarians, namely, the valid ordination of two of 
Queen Elizabeth’s Bishops — well may they guard 
it, seeing it is the one foundation upon which they 
build the whole of their arguments. But this ques- 
tion is only important to that section of Protestant- 
ism that looks upon ordination, if not as a sacra- 
ment, as at least the cause of effects that would 


Trials and Triumphs . 3 1 5 

certainly be sacramental, and such a belief is con- 
fined to Tractarianism and its variations. An ordi- 
nary, or rather a common-place Anglican, looks 
upon ordination simply as a certain serious cere- 
mony, that sets apart certain serious men to per- 
form certain serious functions; and though his 
ordination service contains the apostolic charge 
of binding and loosing, remitting and retaining, he 
betakes himself to the swallowing system, and 
says virtually, that it means nothing more than 
* go, and be a respectable parson.’ Still, however, 
though low-church Anglicans thus get rid of these 
words as a charge , they still stand as a text , and 
must be explained, wrested, or distorted, some- 
how. 

“ They generally give us one of two solutions, 
that is to say, some deny the words addressed to 
St. Peter ever to have passed beyond himself ; 
others assert that he never received anything more 
from his Divine Master than a charge of elder 
brotherhood. Now what could be more inconsist- 
ent than the first answer? Would our Lord have 
conferred a supernatural power on St. Peter, by 
which he might direct souls, forgive sins, provide 
for the spiritual sustenance of the faithful, in short, 
govern the Church infallibly, if He had intended to 
take this power away again upon the death of St. 
Peter? Did all sin, sorrow, and perplexity pass 
away with his generation, so that spiritual guidance 
should never be wanted more ? If those who 
believed that the great apostle received a superna- 
tural power, -but that it ceased with him, could only 


Marion Howard ; or y 



see how inconsistent they make our Lord, they 
would be possibly abashed at their own irreverence. 
For they acknowledge with us, that when Christ 
ascended into heaven His human ministry was 
ended ; and yet they cannot see, that before He left 
the world, He must have arranged His Church 
until the end of time. What would have been the 
use of an authority, an infallibility, a miraculous 
power, a pardoning power, in short, such a God- 
like power, as they must see was conferred on this 
great apostle and his faithful brethren, if they read 
their Bibles, if it were destined to pass away in the 
course of a few years, to leave the Church still in 
possession of such a gift as the atonement, and yet 
wandering unguided in the darkness of such a 
world as this? More consistent certainly are the 
second class of whom I spoke, who deny that any- 
thing like a supernatural authority was ever given 
to St. Peter at all, though, at the same time, how 
they fancy they reconcile such an opinion with the 
Scriptures, I cannot understand. 

“ I remember once, when a very young man, 
attending a Wesleyan tea-meeting. After the tea 
and plum-cake had been discussed, the speeches 
(perhaps I ought to say the addresses) began. 
What the generality of these addresses were, 
whether good, bad, or indifferent, I certainly do 
not now remember, but there was one I have never 
forgotten. It was on 1 isms' and having inveighed 
against Atheism, Deism, Socinianism, Mesmerism, 
and Mormonism, the speaker concluded with two, 
which as a telling peroration he had* reserved to 


I 


Trials and Triumphs . 317 

the last, namely, Rheumatism and Romanism. 
Why the latter should have been classed with 
wrung sinews and aching bones, I have never 
yet discovered. It was certainly an original conceit 
of the speaker. But the anecdote with which he 
wound up his discourse was the cream of the affair. 
I will give it to you in his own words : ‘ Once upon 
a time, I took my Bible in my hand and went to 
visit an old Romanist. Well, my dear brethren, I 
talked to him a long time about the sinfulness of 
his heart, and tried to teach him how faith in 
Christ could alone save him, and of how little use 
prayers to the Virgin Mary and the saints would 
be, to save his soul from hell. The poor old man, 
my friends, only shook his gray head, and began to 
talk to me of the Church that could not err, and 
which he said would carry him to heaven, if he 
only believed and obeyed it. ‘ Look here,’ says 
he, catching hold of my Bible, and fumbling over 
the leaves till he found the sixteenth chapter of St. 
Matthew, 'read that.’ I looked, and there were 
these words : ‘ Thou art Peter, and on this rock I 
will build my Church, and the gates of hell shall 
not prevail against it.’ Then didn’t the old fellow 
look triumphant at me through his spectacles. 
‘Wait a bit, my man,’ thought I, ‘we’ll have you 
yet. Well,’ says I to him, ‘so you think that 
warrant enough for putting your trust in Peter, do 
you ?’ ‘ Bless the man,’ cried the old Romanist, 

‘ isn’t it as plain as a pike-staff, that St. Peter, bless 
him, was made the head of the Church ? and sure 
he couldn’t deceive us, nor be deceived himself!’ 

^ 4 


3i 8 Marion Hoivard ; or, 

‘ Stop/ says I, ‘ let’s us look a bit further down in 
the very same chapter, and what do we see ? why, 
these words spoken to the very same Peter, “ Get 
thee behind me, Satan, for thou art an offence unto 
me,” and upon this, the old fellow, having nothing 
to say, could only revenge himself by giving me a 
good crack on the head with my own Bible.’ 
“ Such,” continued Father Stirling, “was the story 
I heard at the Methodist tea-party, though I must 
say the denouement seemed so extraordinary, that 
even then, though prepared for any enormity on 
the part of Romanism, I hardly believed it. A 
crack on the head would be a most unconvincing 
argument in favor of a religion, and would certainly 
have given me, had I been the Methodist, an in- 
creased distaste for Rheumatism and Romanism! 
For my own part, however, were I in the place of 
his antagonist now, I should be only too glad to 
have the opportunity of drawing my opponent’s 
attention to the beautiful consistency of the teach- 
ing of the Church, as exemplified by this very 
chapter. Peter the Pope, he who is to be guided 
by the Spirit of God, to be led into all truth, to be 
preserved from all error — the rock upon which the 
Church is to be founded, is one thing. Peter the 
Man, impetuous, erring, fallible, blindly striving to 
stay his Master from the salvation of the world, 
another. An infallible Church of fallible men ! 
No wonder such a prodigy as this sounds strange 
to unbelieving ears ! 

“ I have already shown you, though feebly, very 
feebly, that the Church is one, Holy and Catholic. 


Trials and Triumphs . 319 

What are her claims as Apostolic ? Glance at her 
as she stands, ‘ exalted above the hills that all 
nations may flow unto her.’ Look at her machin- 
ery, with its one universal language, (unalterable 
because no longer spoken ;) its sacraments un- 
changed and unchangeable; its ceremonies; its 
priests; its bishops; its cardinals; its pope, suc- 
cessor of St. Peter, upon whom the keys of heaven 
itself in the power of binding and loosing, remit- 
ting and retaining, were bestowed, and to whom 
was given that parting injunction of our Lord, 
‘P'eed my sheep, feed my lambs.’ Read the story 
of the Church; it is very simple. Eighteen hun- 
dred years ago, as the iron of the soldier’s spear 
entered the side of Jesus, hanging upon the cross, 
drops of blood, the last drops of the blood shed 
for the redemption of the world, trickled from the 
wound. In those ruddy drops the Church took its 
source. It was a tiny spring, but grew wider and 
wider, as age after age it rolled, now through the 
dark shadows of Paganism, now through the very 
heart of heresy and of anarchy in the empires of 
the world, struggling in its course with many a 
rock, but ever flowing onward, ever widening. Do 
men ask what is the ocular demonstration of the 
authenticity of the Church ? Its very existence — 
‘ Behold, I am with you !’ Who but the great 
‘I AM’ could have brought His Spouse, bright and 
undefiled, as in the first morning of her birth, 
through the fires of martyrdom, and the blackness 
and corruption of such a world as this ? 

“Yet Protestants tell us that even had such a 


320 


Marion Howard ; or , 

sacrament existed, the chain of the apostolic suc- 
cession must have been broken amid the frequent 
confusion of the hierarchy, and assert that two 
Popes have ruled Christendom at the same time 
more than once; but had there been half a dozen 
at the same time, instead of one, there would only 
have been five more schismatics for the true pon- 
tiff to anathematize. The existence of counterfeit 
money does not make the golden coin more or less 
valuable. More than this, supposing that the 
archives of the Church were so confused and con- 
glomerated, (which certainly they never were,) that 
looking back through the past ages from the 
present day, we could not distinctly trace the 
apostolic succession from Peter to Pius the Ninth, 
(supposing all this, which is perfectly untrue,) 
would it signify? Should we doubt the existence 
of a river, with the source and mouth of which 
we were perfectly acquainted, because part of 
its course lay through an unexplored territory, 
through which we could not follow it in all its 
windings ? Impossible ! while we had ocular de- 
monstration of its existence in its waters. 

“ It is getting too late this evening for us to 
treat this great subject at any length, and the 
books you are reading enter so fully into it, that I 
do not feel at all uneasy at leaving you with them. 
Remember this, however, as a parting word : if 
there be a Church on earth to whom Christ, who 
cannot lie, spoke the truth when He promised to 
guide her into all truth, it is the Catholic Church 
alone. It is impossible for a Church to be infalli- 


321 


Trials and Triumphs. 

ble and yet deny its own infallibility, since that 
very denial is an error in itself ; and what Church 
but the Roman Catholic Church, dares, or ever has 
dared, to lay claim to such a mighty prerogative ? 
No wonder that her enemies gaze in astonishment 
at her mighty pretensions, so different to the tiny 
voices of the puny sects that have dissented from 
the dissenting Church ! No wonder that men 
stare in amazement at this religion that has kept 
its ground, in spite of persecution, misrepresenta- 
tion, envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness! 
Catholicity is indeed an enigma to those without ; 
despising ostentation, she yet heaps together all 
that is rich, and grand, and sumptuous; inculcating 
Christian charity, she cuts off, root and branch, 
every soul that differs from one iota of her creed; 
and preaching humility from every one of her 
pulpits, she yet cries to every sect beyond her 
pale, ‘ I am right and you are wrong.’ And yet 
there is nothing paradoxical in this. There is one 
answer, and the one answer only to it all, ‘ The 
Lord is in His Holy Temple, let all the world 
keep silence before Him/ ” 



.w* 



CHAPTER XVI. 


'jS'^HREE more weeks of winter, snow and frost 
5 passed by, of festivity for the rich, and hard 
VV living for the poor. Three more weeks of 
J silent reading, long, deep prayers and earnest 
conversation in the presbytery parlor, and again it 
was Sunday morning. Mass was just over, and the 
greater part of the congregation had dispersed ; 
only a few pious souls lingered, communing still 
with Him, from whose bright presence they seemed 
loth to part. But, at last, even the most fervent 
had departed, and our little party alone remained 
in the church ; and then the altar tapers were once 
more lighted, and Father Stirling, wearing his stole 
and surplice, appeared at the sacristy door. Marion 
was led to the altar steps by Mrs. Darrell, while 
the rest of the family and the Seymours knelt 
around. A recantation was read, the waters of 
conditional baptism flowed, the words of absolution 
were spoken, and Mrs. Darrell clasped the Catholic 
Golden-hair to her heart. 

Who can describe the rapture of that moment, 
when the dreary doubts and misgivings of the 
past, and the dread foreshadowing of coming anger, 
and perhaps persecution, are lost in the deep unut- 

3 22 


Trials and Triumphs . 323 

terable joy of the present : “ I am a Catholic !” 
And who can describe the feeling of gratitude that 
swells, at such a season, the hearts that have fos- 
tered the bud, and watched in hourly prayer the 
expanding of the blossom? Our little heroine’s 
friends felt too much to speak, and half reached 
home before even Emily found words in which to 
congratulate her; but, the ice once broken, a tide 
of loving welcome flowed around her, and it was 
a large and joyful party that morning that break- 
fasted at the Cedars. 

About a week afterwards, Marion was sitting 
very thoughtfully in her room, with an open letter 
from her mother before her, announcing her inten- 
tion of returning to Ennington in the course of a 
few days. It expressed a wish that she should, at 
the same time, bring her visit at the Cedars to a 
close, to assist in entertaining her aunt, who, Mrs. 
Howard said, purposed returning with her from 
London. 

“ What shall I do ?” cried Marion, to herself ; 
“ shall I write and tell her all at once, or wait till 
we meet? I really do not know which would be 
best, but I will see what Father Stirling advises.” 

At this moment there was a tap at the door, and, 
a servant entering, placed a card in her hand. 
Marion glanced at it, and read, while the letters 
danced before her — 

“ Rev. H. Lisle.” 

“ I will be down directly,” she said, with a won- 
derful effort to be calm, and the girl retired. When 
she had left the room, instinctively our little hero- 


324 Marion Howard ; or, 

ine sank upon her knees, and remained so motion- 
less for full five minutes, that one might have said, 
a soul had fled in the act of prayer; but when she 
rose, an extreme pallor was the only visible sign 
of the inward conflict. Marion descended the stairs 
without encountering any of the family, and placed 
her hand on the handle of the library door. Twice 
she withdrew it, but, making the sign of the cross, 
and, shaking back her curls, she grasped it a third 
time, with a strong hand, and entered with a firm 
foot. 

Mr. Lisle rose to meet her as she advanced, an 
unwonted agitation, on his own part, prevented him 
from observing hers. 

“You are surprised to see me,” he remarked, 
after a short and rather awkward pause, which had 
followed the first greetings. 

“Rather; but I am very pleased.” 

Golden-hair, was that true ? 

“When are you going back to Ennington?” he 
asked. 

“ Mamma has written for me to go next week.” 

“So I understand, from a note I received in 
answer to a letter I wrote, asking permission to 
come and see you here. The Ennington people 
will be very glad to have you back, the old women 
are calling out sadly for flannels this cold weather, 
and poor Mrs. Dobson is overwhelmed with needle- 
work and teaching. In the latter department I 
have helped to set things to right, but the former 
was rather out of my province. The school-treat, 
too, has been waiting for your presence; the chil- 


325 


Trials and Triumphs, 

dren would not think half so much of their buns, 
if Miss Howard were not there to distribute them.” 
Marion tried to smile, but the attempt was a 
sickly one. 

“You do not look well,” said the curate. “ I am 
afraid you have been keeping late hours.” 

“Yes, I have,” answered Marion. 

“ You must get home as soon as you can ; we can 
ill spare your roses in these winter days. How 
have you enjoyed yourself?” 

“Very much. Every one has been very kind.” 
“Is Mr. Stirling living here still?” asked the 
clergyman, after a short pause. 

“Yes. I do not suppose he will ever leave.” 

“ Poor fellow !” cried Mr. Lisle, in a tone of deep 
commiseration; “do you often see him?” 

“Yes, very often.” 

“ Has he ever mentioned me to you ?” 

“ Not once,” said Marion. 

“ I have been entrusted with heaps of messages 
from all sorts of people,” said Mr. Lisle, and he 
commenced a long description of the events that 
had taken place in Ennington during her absence, 
for which Marion felt profoundly thankful, so diffi- 
cult she found anything like conversation. 

“ Shall I go and bring Mrs. Darrell ?” she asked, 
growing more confident, as she found that the visit 
she had taken at first for one of espionage, was 
beginning to wear simply the aspect of a friendly 
call. 

“Not yet,” said the curate, hurriedly; “I have 

several things to say to you first.” 

28 


326 


Marion Howard ; or, 

Marion’s heart sank within her. 

“ I have not told you yet the object of my visit. ,> 

“ No,” said Marion, turning very sick. 

“ I have come,” replied he, “ because, unless I 
had run over to visit you to-day, I should not have 
seen you for a very long time. I start the day 
after to-morrow for Sandiham, in the south of 
En gland. Marion, my ministry at Ennington is 

ended !” 

Had those words been uttered in Marion’s ears a 
month before, life itself would have seemed a blank ; 
as it was, she did not appear to understand him, 
but looked at him strangely, almost vacantly. 
Hope rose within his heart, for he misunderstood 
her. 

“Yes, I am going away,” he continued. “It 
seems a strange thought to me, though, that I 
shall never minister in Ennington church again. I 
preached a little farewell sermon last night to my 
dear old friends. I think there are many who are 
really sorry.” 

Marion remained silent. 

“ Dr. Stebbing will have to get another curate 
directly. I hope you will like him.” 

“ Why are you going so soon ?” she asked at 
length, abruptly. 

“ Because I must take possession of my new 
living at once — the one that you know has been 
promised me for nearly two years. It is in a 
lovely part of Devonshire. The gentleman in 
whose gift it is, is one of my oldest and dearest 
friends, and the parish being largely populated, 


32 7 


Trials and 'Triumphs. 

there is, he assures me, a large sphere of usefulness 
open to a Christian minister. If it had not been 
so, sincerely I may say, I might not have accepted 
it, much as I require an advancement on my pre- 
sent liberal income. The living is worth about 
,£500 a year — a wonderful increase, is it not,” he 
added, smiling, “for one who has been passing rich 
upon ,£120? Sir William Temple tells me that 
the parsonage house is beautifully situated in its 
own grounds, and the society around is all that 
the most difficult to satisfy could desire ? Am I 
not fortunate ?” 

“Very,” said Marion, whose poor little head was 
whirling. 

“Suppose I tell you I am not satisfied.” 

“ Then you are very hard to please,” replied 
Marion, with a touch of her natural spirit. “ But 
they say people never are contented here below 
and rising as she spoke, she walked to the window, 
and stood looking out into the foggy twi light. 

Her companion rose and placed himself beside 
her. Marion trembled as his hand was laid softly 
on her shoulder. 

“ It is in your power, Marion, to make me quite 
contented.” 

The hour had come at last. 

“ It was to speak to you of this,” he continued, 
“ that I came here to-day. Marion, dearest, there 
has been one bright thought that, ever since you 
were a child, has made the very sunlight of my 
heart. It is for this that I have been so anxious 


to get the living — this that has induced me to quit 


328 


Marion Howard ; or. 


my labor of love at Ennington ; for, looking back 
on many little incidents in our intercourse, I can- 
not bring my heart to think that I am altogether 
indifferent to you, Golden-hair, in a little while to 
be the mistress of my new parsonage, my own little 
wife ?” 

A sudden shake of the ringlets made him fall 
back. Had he miscalculated his power? Did she 
not love him, after all? The face she turned on 
him was so white, so death-like in its agony, that 
the curate fairly quivered with perplexed emotion. 
In an instant the golden dream of each life lay 
shattered, as, with every muscle rigid with deter- 
mination, she exclaimed : 

“ Mr. Lisle, it is impossible!” 

“ Impossible !” he repeated. “ Do you not love 
me, Marion ?” 

“ It is not that,” she replied, shaking her head 
slowly; “it is not that; but the will of God has 
separated us — I am a Catholic.” 

“ A Catholic !” he exclaimed, recoiling in horror. 
“ What do you — what can you mean ?” 

“ That, being convinced that it is the one true 
Church of God, I have embraced the Catholic 
religion.” 

He could not answer — he did not attempt it, but 
seating himself upon the sofa and pressing his 
hands to his throbbing temples, he gazed at the 
wreck of his happiness, as once when a boy he had 
gazed at the fragments of a broken vase he had just 
shivered. 

Marion continued: “Had it not been for this, I 


Trials and Triumphs . 029 

would have lived and died for you, and my only 
aim in life should have been to have made you 
happy. What you have been to me, what you are 
still, God only knows — He, too, only knows what 
I feel in speaking, as I am speaking now. ‘ But 
whoso loveth father and mother more than Me, is 
not worthy of Me if they are to be given up for 
God, what must be said of any other earthly tie or 
affection ? Do not, pray do not look like that; any 
burst of anger would be better than that strange, 
stony look.” 

A groan was the only reply. 

“ Could I have borne anything myself, to have 
saved you from this, I would have done so. I 
would have died a thousand deaths rather than 
have caused you and mamma this suffering; but it 
was not to be ! Poor, dear mamma ! You will go 
to your new home, and soon forget me ; but she — 
it is too dreadful to think of — should she feel it as 
much as you do ! Perhaps, however, she will 
remember that this is the first time I have ever 
acted in opposition to her, and will let me follow 
the dictates of my own conscience undisturbed. I 
have dreaded meeting you more than I can possibly 
say, though I never thought that it would be like 
this. But I am very glad that the first shock is 
over; when mamma and Edward know it, I shall 
be comparatively happy.’ 

“In their misery!” broke in Mr. Lisle. “ O ! 
Marion, what are you made of?” 

“ Of something very weak, I fear,” she returned, 

“ or human sorrow at the pain I am causing, would 

28 * 


330 


Marion Howard ; or, 

not triumph as it does just now, over the happiness 
of having found God in His own bright and beau- 
tiful Church. But, dark as my future prospect is 
at this moment, I would not change it for any lot 
on earth had I to be a Protestant again. The 
happiness of being a Catholic compensates per- 
fectly, I am convinced, for any misfortune that can 
befall us here below.” 

“ O, why is it,” cried Mr. Lisle, almost wildly, 
“that this awful delusion, this mockery of a religion, 
should thus be destined to cross my path ? What 
have I done, that those I love should be swept 
from me by a doom far worse than death ! Marion, 
I could have knelt by your grave and said, ‘ Thy 
will be done !’ but now years will not bring me 
resignation ; the thought of what you were, com- 
pared with what you soon will be, will haunt me 
like a spectre, for, depend upon it, all that is most 
beautiful in woman, tarnishes beneath the influence 
of such a creed as Romanism. But even now it is 
not too late, I am sure it is not; come home with 
me, Marion, come back to Ennington, and let me 
show you all the fallacy of these arguments that 
have blinded you, bright and cold as winter sun- 
shine. Such a mind as yours may be bowed, but 
it cannot yet be utterly broken down to the depths 
of their superstition ! Do not let this fearful blow 
fall on your mother, no longer young; do not let 
that brother, who is looking forward to the moment 
when he shall clasp his little Golden-hair to his 
heart, find her separated from him by a deeper 
gulf than the ocean waves that now divide them ; 


Trials and Triumphs . 331 

and, if anything I can say from the depths of my 
own poor heart can move you, do not let the one 
dear hope of my life be blighted, for, O Marion, 
my darling, I love you next to God !” 

It was a moment of temptation ; and perhaps the 
black angels smiled in triumph at the white-robed 
guardian that hovered around his charge. Queen 
of the Angels, protect thy child ! 

“ Do not ask me,” she replied at length, in a 
voice of such determination that he knew his last 
hope had fled. “ God will be with you all, in His 
strength you will carry your cross.” 

“Then I will waste no more time in words. All 
that remains for me now,” he added, after a pause, 
“ is to return to Ennington and write to your 
mother. Thank God, you are not yet one-and- 
twenty.” 

“That makes no difference,” replied Marion; 
“ were I only five years of age, my thoughts, my 
mind, my prayers, would be beyond control. Even 
if mamma were to force me to attend to her church 
and kneel with her at prayers, what would be 
the value of such a foolish victory? If argument 
and persuasion cannot show me the truth of your 
religion, coercion never will !” And the spirit of 
her mother shot from her father’s eyes. 

“At any rate, we will see!” 

She held out her hand, but, without appearing 
to notice it, he turned away and walked quickly 
from the room. 

As he crossed the vestibule, Mrs. Darrell met 


332 


Marion Howard ; or , 


“ Mr. Lisle, I believe,” she exclaimed ; “ I 
thought Marion would have brought you in to join 
us in the drawing-room. We dine at six, and I 
hope you will favor us with your company to 
dinner, even if the long ride compels you to leave 
us directly afterwards.” 

“ I thank you,” said the curate, with constrained 
politeness, “but I have already dined.” 

“ So we shall have to lose our little friend next 
week, I hear?” observed Mrs. Darrell. 

Mr. Lisle made no reply, except to reach his hat 
from the stand. 

“Are you sure you cannot stay? At least let me 
offer you a glass of wine, it is such a cold evening.” 

“Nothing in this house,” was the rejoinder ; “I 
wish you good evening;” and, without another 
word, he opened the door himself and passed out 
into the gloom. 

Mrs. Darrell remained on the spot where he had 
left her. “ Now, poor child,” she whispered to 
herself, “her troubles have begun. God help her! 
At any rate, come what will, she shall have a home 
and a mother here.” 

Her ruminations were cut short by the sudden 
calling of her name, and the pealing of the library 
bell, and, running to the room, she found Marion 
extended on the sofa, and Joe calling for assistance, 
and pealing the bell with all his might. 

It was some time before she was restored to con- 
sciousness, and longer still before she could tell 
them that Mr. Lisle knew all, and had departed to 
do his worst. 


Trials and Triumphs . 


333 


“ I thought he was very ungracious when I asked 
him to stop to dinner/’ said Mrs. Darrell ; “ but no 
wonder he looked black !” 

“ If he was black, Marion was white !” exclaimed 
Joe. “ I had been hunting on the shelves for a 
book I left here, for at least two minutes, before I 
saw her, and, in the half light, I thought she was 
dying, if not dead.” 

“ I almost wish I was/’ said Marion, who over- 
heard him 

“ Hush, my child,” said Father Stirling, who 
had just entered the room, “or I shall have to 
scold you for trailing your cross instead of carry- 
ing it. That would be a great pity, for you would 
have all the weariness of its weight without the 
merit of the sacrifice. Cheer up, and remember 
that the troubles of this life are small in com- 
parison to the great joys our good God will give 
us in heaven if we are only faithful. No, my dear 
child, you must love to live till God shall call 
you. And you will do so, I am sure, for your 
bravery in this first conflict gives me every hope 
that you will be worthy of the 4 valiant woman/ 
who will stand beside you in every struggle.” 

Two days later a letter was placed in Marion’s 
hand, bearing the London post-mark. It was from 
her mother, and enclosed a note from Mr. Lisle to 
herself, which ran as follows : 

u Dear Mrs. Howard : 

“You have no longer a daughter. Marion has 
given you up to follow an idol of her own imagina- 
tion. She has become a Romanist, and (backed, I 


334 Marion Howard ; or> 

suppose, by her priests) defies us both ; that is, she 
refuses to listen to anything I can say, and declares 
that no power on earth can coerce her soul. 

“ Dearest mother, for come what will, such is 
the tie between us, much as I love her, I do not 
counsel gentleness, for I think a little salutary 
severity may bring her back again. Let her see 
what she has given up in your love ; refuse to 
meet her except as a Protestant, and, believe me, 
natural affection, with such a heart as hers, must 
triumph in the end. My heart is throbbing so 
fast that I cannot see to write. I feel as if I were 
on the eve of some fearful illness ; come home as 
soon as you can, for I cannot leave till I have seen 
you. Your affectionate son, 

Henry Lisle.” 

The letter from her mother to Marion ran 
thus : 

“ The enclosed, received this morning, from Mr. 
Lisle, has told me of my misery. Yesterday I 
rejoiced over a letter that gave me, as I thou ght, a 
son ; to-day I stand transfixed over another, that 
informs me I have ‘no longer a daughter.’ Be it 
so ; if you can live without me, it is enough. Go ! 
Those who have so kindly provided you with a 
new religion, must furnish you also with another 
mother, and a fresh home. What Henry Lisle 
advises, I adopt. When you can say, ‘ Thy God 
shall be my God,’ you shall once more be my 
child, but not till then. In this I am even more 


Trials and Triumphs . 335 

inexorable than himself, for he would make this a 
kind of essay to drive you back to me again, a 
decision to be replaced by something more lenient, 
should harsher measures fail. But I do not mean 
it so. It is my ultimatum. O ! Marion, what have 
I done that you should treat me thus ? You knew 
me well in not apprizing me of your intention ; 
had I had a thought of such a thing as this, I 
would have put a stop to it, whatever had been the 
result. I hate the Catholic religion ; I hate Catholic 
priests ; but, more than either, I hate the presump- 
tion of my own child, who thus sets at naught my 
parental authority ! Mind, however, I only write 
to you thus on the representation of Mr. Lisle; he 
may be wrong, for you may be only waiting to ask 
my pardon, and do my bidding. If so, welcome ; 
if not, farewell. M. Howard.” 

“ What am I to do?” asked Marion, almost 
wildly, as she placed the letters in Father Stir- 
ling’s hand. 

“ Wait and see,” said the priest, quietly, after he 
had perused them. “ Pie whom you have obeyed 
will not forsake you. Dominus providcbit. Mrs. 
Darrell will take care of you for the present, and, 
after a little time, perhaps mamma will relent.” 

“ Never, I am afraid,” said Marion ; “ she has 
never written nor spoken to my father’s mother 
for twelve years, because she once offended her. 
She prides herself upon her pride ; and, to tell 
you the truth, I have often felt proud of it, too. 
There is something. so majestic in her unbending 


336 Marion Howard; or, 

character. Out of her own family, Mr. Lisle is the 
only person with whom she is really familiar ; for 
although she has made acquaintances of a chosen 
few, she always makes them keep a certain distance. 
Then, again, she is so determined ; you see what 
she says, (and I know it is true), that if she had 
known my intentions beforehand, she would have 
prevented it, whatever had been the result. She 
would have come and taken me away, I know ; 
and if I had been snatched, in that unsettled state 
of mind, from every person and from everything 
Catholic, firm as I thought myself, I might have 
wandered, especially with Mr. Lisle straining every 
nerve to win me back again ; for, O Father, though 
those letters say a great deal, you do not yet know 
all,” and Marion related the scene in the library. 

“ Poor child ! Poor child !” said the sympa- 
thizing priest. “ Does Mrs. Darrell know this?” 

“ No ; I do not wish any one but you to know 
it, for it would do no good. But if you did not 
understand all my troubles, you would not be 
able to manage so well for me.” 

“ Certainly not; it is no use showing a physician 
half a wound. Poor Lisle ! I feel very sorry 
for him, too. Well, you will stay here for the 
present ?” 

“Not for long,” replied Marion, firmly; “no, 
Father, I must be a governess.” 

Father Stirling looked rather surprised, but for 
some minutes made no reply. “A governess!” he 
repeated, at length, musingly * “ what do you think 
you could teach ?” 


Trials and Triumphs . 337 

“ I hardly know ; I have never thought about it,” 
replied Marion. 

“ Well, do so ; and let me know for what, on 
consideration, you consider yourself qualified, and 
I will write to a priest that I know in London, and 
see if he can do anything for us.” 

“ What shall I do with regard to mamma ?” 

“ Write her just the affectionate letter your own 
heart will dictate, telling her how, if she will only 
alter her resolutions, you will devote yourself, 
heart and soul, to her, as you have always done. 
Tell her what it has cost you to give up Henry 
Lisle, and ask her not to increase the severity 
of this trial, by spurning you from her. Tell her, 
however, that you must remain a Catholic, but 
that, if she will only see you, you will give her 
such good reasons for the change you have made, 
that you are sure she will admit your sincerity, 
even though she herself may remain unconvinced. 
Tell her that her God is your God, and that for 
Him only, would you cause her the sorrow now 
wringing her heart. Say this, or something like 
this, and surely she will relent ; at any rate, you 
will have done your part.” 

Marion shook her head. “She will never relent! 
O, mamma !” 

“ Come ! come ! this will never do !” said Father 
Stirling. “ I must let you make your first com- 
munion, and then you will be stronger.” 

Marion smiled through her tears. 

“ Next Sunday week, I think, and meantime we 
must make a novena for you.” 

29 


338 


Marion Howard. 


“ What is that ?” 

“A nine days prayer to obtain an intention.” 

“ And will you make one for me?” 

“ We will, that Almighty God may give you 
strength to bear your trials as a Catholic ought. 
Good-by, my child. Poor little thing,” he mur- 
mured to himself, as he watched her down the 
garden path; ‘‘an angry mother and a broken 
love-dream are heavy trials for eighteen. But, no 
cross no crown. Mater dolorosa , ora pro eat' 




CHAPTER XVII. 



r\- 


jf 


'VARION was right. The sweet letter that 
reached her mother in reply to her own, was 
unheeded, save by a brief note which accom- 
panied a packet from Mr. Lisle, and in- 
formed her that she had already had her de- 
cision. 

As for the clergyman’s budget, it was something 
tremendous. A long tirade of abuse against every- 
thing Catholic, and of flimsy arguments against 
every doctrine of the Church. One after the other 
these melted away into thin air, or thinner imagi- 
nation, beneath a few telling words from Father 
Stirling, as he and Marion conned them over on 
the afternoon of the Sunday of her first com- 
munion. 

“ So much for Protestantism, if they have no- 
thing better to say than that,” said Mr. Darrell, who 
had been listening attentively to the conversation. 

“I suppose I shall have to answer these objec- 
tions,” observed Marion. 

“I do not see any occasion for your doing so,” 
replied Father Stirling ; “ though, perhaps, if you 
do not, Lisle will say that you have not looked 
into both sides of the question. But I should 

339 


340 


Marion Howard ; or, 

imagine, the very fact of a person living till the age 
of eighteen in communion with a Church, ought 
to be a guarantee that she knows what its doctrines 
are, and what the grounds of its belief.” 

“ She would be clever if she could determine 
what are the doctrines of the Church of England,” 
observed Mr. Darrell, “among such a mass of con- 
tradiction. I was reading an article yesterday 
on the ‘Broad Church,’ which is just springing 
up into notoriety, heralded by its ‘ Essays and 
Reviews.’ ” 

“The ‘ Broad Church’ — what is that?” asked 
Mrs. Darrell. 

“Something quite new; ‘just out,’ in fact, but 
already growing fashionable, and patronized, they 
tell me, by those who sit in high places. We shall 
have the narrow one next, I suppose.” 

“ But who are they ? What do they teach ?” 

“ Why, nothing ; that is, they seem to be doing 
all they can to pull Christianity to pieces altogether. 
Among other things, some of them take away the 
inspiration of Scripture, and others deny the eternity 
of hell, so I should think a good many sinners will 
become Broad-churchmen. It will be rather amus- 
ing, if not edifying, to watch the rival operations of 
the Broad Church and High Church. Where one 
party seems intent on pulling off every doctrine it 
can lay hold of, the other is equally busy in putting 
as much on as the institution will carry without 
growing restive; w T hile the Low-churchman, in his 
turn, can do nothing but denounce each party 
alternately, at Exeter Hall and tea-meetings, in 


Trials and Triumphs . 


34i 


common with Romanists and Mormons. Poor 
Church of E ngland, what will it come to in the 
end ? The poor fellow, of whom SEsop writes, 
whose old wife pulled out the brown hairs, while 
his young one worked away at the white, was 
nothing to it, nor the unfortunate caterpillar, in 
whose body the ichneumon fly has deposited her 
larvse. I always felt a great deal of commiseration 
for these two victims of misfortune ; but the Church 
of England will soon be more pitiable still. What 
can one do whose foes are those of his own house- 
hold ? Dissent! Disunion! Infidelity! Could 
we have a sadder picture of a house divided 
against itself?” 

“ Hear, hear!” cried Joe, from the other end of 
the room. “ Who says my father ought not to be 
in Parliament. Wouldn’t he ‘ confound their poli- 
tics, and frustrate their knavish tricks/ with a 
vengeance !” 

“Why, Joe, you have been so quiet,” said Edith, 
“ that I really did not know you were there.” 

“ Rather impertinent, sister mine, any one would 
think I was habitually noisy, to hear you talk.” 

“ Or to hear you shut a door, open a window, 
come down stairs, or — ” 

“ Come, come, Edie, that will not do, I plead 
guilty : I was born to make a noise in the world, 
and Father Stirling says we must fulfil our vocation.” 
“ Remarkably cool,” exclaimed Father Stirling, 
“to make me the apology for his love of racket.” 
“Joe can be quiet sometimes, though,” said 

Emily, looking proudly at him. 

29 * 


342 


Marion Howard ; or , 


“ Yes, when lie is either hungry or sleepy,” said 
his father. 

“ Or thoughtful,” added Emily. 

A smile passed over Joe’s handsome face. 

“ Which have you been all the afternoon, Joe?” 
asked his father. 

“I know,” said Emily; “ he has been thinking, 
poor boy, that this is his last Sunday but one 
with us.” 

“ Nonsense!” cried Mr. Darrell, sitting upright 
in his chair. But Emily was right, in a fortnight 
more Joe must be once again upon the sea. 

A very deep silence fell upon the little party, for 
all felt that much of the home sunshine would pass 
away, too. 

“ But this will never do,” cried Mr. Darrell, 
at length ; “ suppose somebody sings us a song. 
Look at Marion, she is getting quite mopy.” 

“ No, no !” exclaimed Marion, trying to withdraw 
from the tell-tale blaze that sprung up under Mr. 
Darrell’s “magic touch,” as Emily called it; but 
more than one saw a very big tear in the blue eye. 
Joe saw it, and a flash of pleasure shot through his 
heart. Poor boy, what had it to do with him ? 

A few nights after this, there was a little family 
party at the Seymours, and the young people from 
the Cedars walked home through the frosty air. 
They had spent a cheerful evening; but they did 
not feel quite as bright as usual, for Joe had but 
a few days longer to be with them, and Marion 
was wearing daily sadder and sadder beneath her 
heavy load. “ She must have something to dis- 


343 


Trials and Triumphs. 

tract her, or she will sink,” Father Stirling had 
that morning said to Mrs. Darrell. 

The twins walked on in front, talking of Marion 
and Joe alternately, while the subjects of their 
thoughts lingered behind in deep and earnest con- 
versation. Joe felt that to-night or never he must 
speak and learn his fate. He fenced about for a 
long time, he talked of the sea, of the people in 
the neighborhood, of the weather, of his sisters, 
of his dog, but from each and every topic the sub- 
ject seemed equally unapproachable, and all the 
while they were nearing the Cedars, and his golden 
opportunity was gliding away. 

“ I shall hear of you sometimes through my 
sisters, Marion,” he observed at last. 

“ Of course you will.” 

“I wish you would write me just a little letter 
sometimes, yourself?” 

“ There will be no need for me to do that. I 
can send you any message I wish through them.” 
“ I do not like things second-hand,” said Joe, 
half crossly. 

“Well, we shall see.” 

“ If it were not that it makes you unhappy,” 
continued Joe, “ I should be half glad that your 
mamma is angry with you, it will be so nice to 
have you always with us.” 

“You are mistaken, Joe,” replied Marion; “I 
shall not stay much longer at Harleyford.” 

“ Why ? Where are you going ?” 

“To be a governess.” 

“ Marion, what do you mean ?” 


344 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ Only what I say, Joe ; Father Stirling and your 
mother both know my intention, and approve of it.” 
“ Mamma does ! It was only a day or two ago, 
Marion, that she said our house should be your 
home until you returned to your own.” 

“You need not tell me of your mother’s kind- 
ness,” replied Marion; “but she agrees now with 
Father Stirling, that I must have some active 
employment to keep me from brooding over my 
troubles, which really seem more than I can bear.” 
“ Poor, dear girl,” said Joe, affectionately press- 
ing the hand that lay upon his arm. “ Marion, I 
shall often think of you when I am many miles 
from here.” 

“But you must not do so in sorrow, Joe,” she 
replied ; “ Father Stirling says mine is a very mild 
case of persecution ; where one suffers less than I 
do, twenty suffer more.” 

“ I wish you would make up your mind to stay 
with my mother and the girls. Father Stirling 
w r ould soon find active work for you in the parish ; 
if not, there are plenty of little things to distract 
you. You should see how much they find to do at 
home, with the house and garden, and with their 
needlework for the church and for the poor. No 
one ever spends an idle minute at the Cedars, I can 
tell you, except, of course, at holiday times like 
these. I can promise you, you should have plenty 
to do. Ah ! Marion, you are not straightforward 
with me, this is not your only reason for leaving us.” 
“ Perhaps not, Joe ; I think there is another, 
stronger still.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 


345 


“ Tell me what it is; remember what an old friend 
I am.” 

“ It is, then,” said Marion, “ that over and above 
what I have just said, nothing could induce me to 
remain a burden on your family, as long as I have 
the means, by either my head or my hands, of 
gaining my own livelihood.” 

“ Marion, this is pride, one of the deadly sins.” 

“Then it is proper pride.” 

“You had better not talk of such an article as 
that ; Father Stirling would tell you there was no 
such thing in existence.” 

“ Then, self-respect.” 

“ Equally wrong. ‘ Now you are in Rome, 
Marion, you must do as Romans do.’ The Church 
makes humility the very watch-word of perfection, 
and you must practice it by consenting to remain 
at the Cedars ” 

“ I know very well, if it wanted nothing but 
loving hearts to detain me there, I should never 
leave the dear old house ; but we need not talk of 
this now; you, at least, will not be pained at seeing 
me go forth to seek my fortune. I shall probably 
remain your mother’s guest for some little time to 
come yet.” 

“And do you think my feeling about you is 
such a selfish one, that I only care not to witness 
your discomfort? How little you know me, 
Marion !” 

There was a short pause, as both walked on in 
silence, broken only by the subdued voices of the 
girls in front. 


34 ^ 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ Do you mean to say,” cried Joe, at length, 
“ that you actually mean me to go back to sea, 
leaving you in this determination ?” 

“ What else can I do ?” 

“ Promise to remain with my mother/' 

“That I never will. O, Joe,” she continued, “do 
not, I beg of you, make my weary path more diffi- 
cult." 

“ More difficult, Marion ! There is nothing I 
would not do to render it smooth. It is you who 
persist in walking over the stones, when the green 
sward lies ready for your feet.” 

“ Simply because I know that duty leads me 
across those stones. Have you forgotten the story 
Father Stirling told us the other day of St. Jeanne 
de Chantal, who took her first step upon her path 
of duty across the body of her son ?” 

“ She was a saint, Marion, one of those set up to 
be admired, but far beyond our imitation.” 

Marion smiled. “ A convenient doctrine that, 
Joe, but I am afraid the line of demarcation must 
be sometimes rather hard to be determined between 
what we are to admire, and what to imitate.” 

“ Marion,” cried Joe, stopping short in his energy, 
“ I have made one resolution ; unless you promise 
this, I will not stir to join my ship.” 

“Joe, are you mad?” 

“ I think I am,” replied her companion, excitedly. 
“ Listen, Marion, if you had a claim upon our 
family, a real claim of relationship, would you 
scruple to form one of its circle ?” 

“ Candidly, Joe, I do not think I should. It 


347 


Trials and Triumphs. 

would then be only a question of pride, now it is 
one of principle.” 

“Then let it be so no longer, but take your 
place among us as a sister and daughter.” 

“But I cannot, Joe; why go over the same 
ground again ; how can I do this ?” 

“ By promising to be my wife and poor Joe 
poured forth the whole secret of his love, with all 
the enthusiastic ardor of twenty-two. 

Marion was perfectly overwhelmed with aston- 
ishment and regret. The passing thought that 
had stolen over her the night of the party, had 
been so completely lost amid graver scenes and 
subjects, that this declaration came upon her like a 
thunder clap. 

“Joe,” said Marion, as he paused for her reply, 
“you must believe me when I say, that of all 
the troubles I have had to bear, this is not the 
lightest. Had I liked you less, it would have 
been easier to grieve you, easier to inflict a blow, 
that I fear will be a severe one to you, for dear, 
dear Joe, I can never love you with more than 
a sister’s love.” 

“Marion!” he exclaimed, in a voice so strange, 
she could hardly recognize it; “Marion!” 

Neither spoke for some seconds, and now, hav- 
ing entered the gates, they began to ascend the 
drive. 

“ Could nothing, Marion,” said Joe, at length, 
“ could nothing, do you think, change your feeling 
for me ? I will give up the sea and accept the 
appointment offered me the other day, if you shrink 


348 


M arion Howard ; or , 

from the harassment always experienced by a 
sailor’s wife. I will be what you like, and do 
what you like, if you will only try to love me.” 

“Do not talk so, Joe, I beg and pray of you,” 
cried the poor girl, bursting into tears, “ or you 
will break my heart. If you only knew all, you 
would see how impossible it is.” 

“You are already engaged !” cried Joe, with a 
start. 

“ No, I am not; but mamma was not the only 
one I gave up to become a Catholic.” 

“ I never thought of this, Marion,” he said, very 
gently, after a long pause. “Tell me one thing; 
is it Henry Lisle ?” 

Marion bowed her head. 

“You are right,” he whispered, as they reached 
the hall dgor, which his sisters had already entered, 
“ inactivity would be too much for you ; as for 
me, a month more on shore would kill me. Go 
wherever you can be happiest, and may God 
Almighty bless you !” 

Stooping down, he kissed her forehead, and 
before she could recover from her surprise, hurried 
up stairs to his own room, and the silent sorrow of 
his own heart. 

Before many days the “old house at home” w r as 
very quiet, almost dull, for Joe Darrell had gone 
to sea again. 

“He has felt the parting dreadfully this time. I 
never saw* him so downcast in my life, as he has 
been the greater part of this week,” said Mrs. 
Darrell. 


349 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ Poor, dear boy !” said Emily, to whose sympa- 
thies all had been confided by the young sailor. 

More than a month rolled on after his departure, 
yet nothing was heard of, suitable to Marion 
Howard. More than once Mrs. Darrell tried to 
dissuade her from an idea so fraught with diffi- 
culty, but Mr. Seymour, whom she called in to 
attend her, for Marion’s health was beginning to 
suffer, also counselled change of scene. But still 
Mrs. Darrell felt loath to part with her, and once 
again sought Father Stirling and his advice. 

“ Endeavor to place her in a good Catholic 
family, where she may find occupation for talents 
never yet called into play, but which I feel sure 
she possesses, and believe me, my dear friend, 
you will have done a greater kindness for Marion 
Howard, than in leaving her in a position where 
her high spirit would be constantly chafing under 
a sense of her dependence.” 

At length Marion thought of writing to her 
grandmother in London, intimating a desire of 
spending a short time with her, but leaving it 
to an interview to tell her of her determination 
to seek an engagement, and of the events that 
had rendered such a course of action necessary. 
Nor did the remembrance of the unkindly feeling 
entertained by Mrs. Howard for her aged relative 
deter her from the idea, for she felt justly that 
she had no cause to shrink from her father’s 
parent, whom in her early years she had so deeply 
loved. There was another reason that had made 

Marion turn to old Mrs. Howard. She knew that 

30 


35 ° 


M avion Howard ; or, 


her mother’s family would fully coincide in her 
decision with regard to her refractory child, and 
consider the line of conduct she had adopted as 
only wholesome severity, and she therefore felt 
that in her present circumstances this grand- 
mother was the only relation to whom she could 
look for assistance. Nor was she mistaken. Re- 
turn of post brought so warm a welcome from the 
old lady, that Marion grew almost buoyant again 
under its influence. Bitterly both had felt the 
estrangement, for old Mrs. Howard had never seen 
her grandchild since the moment she had left 
Ennington in anger with the mother. The old 
lady’s residence in London was of later date than 
Marion’s schooldays there, and though little peri- 
odical birthday messengers and New Year’s gifts 
invariably reached the grandmother, they were but 
a sorry substitute for the privilege of clasping her 
little Marion to her heart. It was, therefore, with 
unfeigned joy that she hailed the prospect of wel- 
coming her to her little home, secretly wondering 
within herself what could possibly have brought 
such an event to pass. 

It was on a cold, foggy morning that Marion left 
the roof that had so hospitably sheltered her 
during her days of trials, and the party who had 
assembled to bid her good-by was at best a mel- 
ancholy one. Edith, silent in her sorrow, Emily, 
the impulsive, sobbing as though her heart would 
break, while from Mrs. Darrell’s soft eyes the tears 
fell thick and fast. 

“ Good-by, darling,” she exclaimed ; “ God bless 


35 1 


Trials and Triumphs 

you! You promise me one thing, remember. If 
you find anything hard to you, you will come 
back. Here is your home.” 

“ I will, indeed,” cried Marion, smiling through 
her tears. “ This is only half going to seek out 
my fortune, while I have so many kind friends. 
Heroines, to be romantic, ought to be quite for- 
saken and alone.” 

“ Ah, but you see, my dear, heroines went 
out of fashion with knight-errants and dragons. 
Good-by.” 

Marion took her seat by Robert, for Mr. Darrell 
was not well enough to drive her, as he had 
intended, to the station, which lay at some distance 
from Harleyford. As the dog-cart wheeled off, 
the tears flowed fast behind her gauze veil, and the 
slow walk down the steep path brought back so 
many happy rides and drives that little Golden- 
hair felt desolate indeed. At the Lodge another 
trial awaited her, where Turner and Eliza, animated 
by different feelings, were standing to bid her 
good-by. The former saw only the child she had 
nursed and fondled as her own, turned into a world 
of strangers by a mother whom Turner had never 
learned to love ; while Eliza, with all the ardor of 
a new convert, saw only suffering for the cause of 
Christ. But though proud of the martyrdom, her 
woman’s heart mourned over the martyr, and more 
than one tear fell on the left hand Marion extended 
to her, as with her right she grasped that of her 
old nurse. 

“ Good-by, nursey !*’ she exclaimed, kissing her, 


35 2 


Marion Howard ; or, 


and bending so low, that Robert trembled for her 
equilibrium. “Good-by. There, don’t cry; all 
will be well. I am coming back to see you all at 
midsummer. You must pray for me, Eliza, for I 
shall indeed need prayers.” 

“That I will ; indeed I will,” cried Eliza; “but 
O, Miss Marion, things must right at last.” 

“Will you not bid me good-by, nursey ?” asked 
Marion. 

“ I can’t, I can’t, deary. Why did I live to see 
you go away like this, my own sweet, precious 
child, you who never did anything to anger her 
Ah, deary, but the missus has a hard, cold heart.” 
“Turner!” cried Marion, withdrawing her hand, 
“ how can you — how dare you speak like that ?” 

“ Well, this is the first time I ever said a word 
agin her; but surely, Miss Marion, it is enough to 
make one forget one’s duty to one’s betters, to see 
such a thing as this.” 

“ But not to one’s mother, Turner.” 

“ God bless you, child ; you are right,” sobbed 
the old woman, “ and I will never vex you with 
my foolish old tongue again. O, deary, deary me!” 
and she thought of the Christmas eve when she 
had watched Joe drive her up to the house, so full 
of life and spirits. 

“ Good-by,” said Marion once again ; and the 
carriage rolled off amid an hysterical sob from the 
old woman, that rang in Marion’s ears for hours. 

But a farewell visit had yet to be paid to Father 
Stirling, whose Mass was just ended. Marion 
sprang from the vehicle and entered the church, 


353 


Trials and Triumphs. 

where, after a prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, 
in which it seemed as though the very earnestness 
of a lifetime was concentred, she sought the priest 
in the sacristy. Father Stirling, who had heard 
the carriage stop, and seen her pass the window, 
was expecting her. He stepped forward to meet 
her, and held out his hand. “Going away?” he 
asked. 

Marion bowed her head, for she could not trust 
herself to speak. 

“ Going away,” he repeated, gently, “ into the 
world as yet you have only heard and read of. 
But keep up a brave heart. You have, kind friends 
in the background.” 

“I am not afraid,” answered Marion; “but 
everything seems so dull, even the weather, and 
I have never travelled alone before.” 

“ Nor will you now, my child ; you will have 
two Companions — two who have travelled before.” 

Marion looked up inquiringly. 

‘‘Yes, and a darker, drearier road; for let the 
fog be ever so cheerless, it will never equal the 
gloom of the Via Dolorosa , along which a Son and 
His Mother travelled eighteen hundred years ago. 
They will be with you to-day. Will not their 
company suffice you ?” 

“Yes,” said Marion. 

“ I have offered my Mass for you this morn- 
ing.” 

She thanked him with her eyes. 

“Will you pray for me?” 

A sob was the only answer. 

30 * 


354 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ God give you His grace, my poor child, to 
bear up bravely. Are you afraid your grand- 
mother will refuse to receive you when you tell 
her all ?” 

“No, it is not that,” said Marion, striving to 
recover her firmness; “but everything seems so 
uncertain. I feel as if I was stepping off firm 
land into a little boat.” 

“So you are, but you have a good Helmsman. 
You must write and tell me all your troubles. I 
have been thinking that you had better not write 
just yet to your brother, though, I suppose if you 
do not, Mr$. Howard will. You must be guided 
by circumstances. Here is a little book, to 
make you remember Father Stirling in your 
prayers;” and he placed a beautiful Missal in her 
hand. 

She tried to thank him, but the effort was too 
great, and subsided into another sob. 

“Hush! hush !” said the priest. “If everything 
I do to make you happy, makes you cry, I must 
begin to scold.” 

Marion smiled. 

“ Now, really, you are a woman, every inch of 
you !” exclaimed Father Stirling. “ Crying when I 
pet you, and laughing when I am angry. I will 
have no more to do with you, so run away. You 
will be late for the train,” he added, “if you stop 
another minute.” 

“ Give me your blessing first,” said Golden-hair, 
sinking on her knees. 

He gave it, and in two minutes more she 


Trials and Triumphs . 355 

and Robert were whirling on behind Black Prince, 
who as trotted fast as his four legs could carry 
him. 

The country through which the panting engine 
bore Marion and her fortunes was not more varied 
than her thoughts. 

There was the past, with Ennington and its asso- 
ciations, with her mother and their last railway 
ride together, and with Henry Lisle and those 
thousand thoughts of him, half memories, half 
dreams. Then came the present, with its heavy 
sorrows, but grand religious influence brooding 
over all, as the shadow of the crimson glass falls 
on the cathedral aisle, flecking alike the living and 
the dead. But.O, the future! How she strove in 
imagination to raise the jealous veil that shrouded 
it from her sight. Refractory children, haughty 
mothers, the dreaded, because untried, monotony 
of teaching. Like many other young persons, 
Marion had a horror of the discipline of the school- 
room, of the hard and inky forms, the torn books, 
dirty maps, and all those thousand uncomfortable- 
nesses that seemed to make the sum and substance 
of school life, as she remembered it. Then this 
brought her back to those very early days at 
Ennington, to the pretty breakfast room, to the old 
piano, crayon-heads, the mother-governess, and 
the lesson interrupted by the knock that made her 
heart beat quicker even than as a child. Golden- 
hair looked at the vision till it became a living 
scene, and “ mistaking memory for hope,” it seemed 
as though it could not all be passed. All was so 


Marion Howard ; or, 

vivid, the house, the garden, Turner, even Tyrza 

brought his memories and his tears. Roused from 

her reverie, she looked through the carriage 

window. “ How like the future is a cloudy day,” 

she thought, “ when objects in the immediate 

vicinity are tolerably distinct, but a little further 

off a dense curtain veils everything from our eyes. 

Nor does the metaphor end even here, for in the 

recesses of the mist I could fancy spectres and 

dreadful forms, which, as we approach them, are 

only trees and houses. And what will these 

things be, that now stand out in the future, 

so black and mysterious, but common places? 

For what is a lifetime, after all, but a simple 

chain of events, a succession of days and nights !” 

« 

And now the fields, and trees, and cows, began 
to disappear, the fog grew thicker, and the houses 
more numerous. Uncomfortable looking places 
were passed by, the back windows of low tene- 
ments, tall gaunt warehouses, and dingy people. 
Dull looking thoroughfares were crossed on high 
railway bridges, to be succeeded by a cutting 
with a wall on either side, above the top of 
which arose houses again, while boys’ heads, 
peeping over the parapet, cried “ hurrah!” to the 
passing locomotive. Then came large desolate 
expanses, dotted with empty trucks, rusty iron, 
navvies, and snorting engines, that, like busy- 
bodies, seemed wondrously intent on doing no- 
thing, unless it were making “day hideous” with 
their yells. And then came London — busy, bust- 
ling, never-quiet London, with its rolling wheels, 



357 


Trials ancl Triumphs. 

its ceaseless footfalls, its Babel of shouts, and 
calls, and cries ; its rows of shops, and streets, 
and terraces, its thoughtful men and earnest 
women, its crimes and virtues, its palaces and 
alleys, its fearful poverty, and its wondrous wealth. 






CHAPTER XVIII. 

HE winter afternoon was falling, and lights 
gleamed rapidly through the fog, and Marion 
grew tranquil as she felt herself one of the 
living moving mass. In a world where all 
have aims, should she have to live without one? 
No; she took the resolution, that, come what 
might, she would be happy, even though she built 
the foundation of that happiness upon the wreck 
of the loved and the lost. The train neared the 
terminus, in the midst of that long, strange, weird- 
like whistle, that, varying with a kind of wavering 
quail, always brings with it the joyful feeling of a 
journey ended, very comforting to one’s bones, or 
the supposition of a collision, very discomforting 
to the same. The train stopped, as its mournful 
cadence died away in the fog, and two minutes 
later, Golden-hair was clasped in her grand- 
mother’s arms. 

Mrs. Howard, senior, was not rich ; the greater 
part of her income had passed with her only son, 
and a moderate annuity was the old lady’s sole 
resource. But it was amply sufficient for her 
every want, and many a silent deed of charity 
besides, and in her quiet, old-fashioned home at 

353 



Trials and Triumphs. 


359 


Islington she lived alone, a little quizzed, much 
loved, and very much respected. 

Marion was soon installed in the little parlor, 
where her grandmother succeeded at last in plac- 
ing her full length upon the sofa, beside a very 
cosy fire, while she bustled off to hurry in the tea. 
Very characteristic was the dear old lady’s parlor. 
The mahogany chairs, covered in horsehair, and 
inlaid with brass, the piano to match, towering up 
to the ceiling, whose antiquity it sets one’s very 
teeth on edge to compute, the round table in the 
middle and square one under the window, the 
crimson curtains bordered with black velvet, all 
were redolent of lang syne. A closer scrutiny 
revealed cases of stuffed birds, rare and oriental 
shells, fans, heathen gods, carved ivory, feather 
flowers, and various curiosities, all of which, gifts 
of many years ago from her son, embellished the 
apartment, with the old lady’s work-box and tea- 
caddy, and an endless variety of paper roses. 

But the family portraits were the glory of Mrs. 
Howard’s heart. There was her husband, with 
very black hair, a coat-collar rising majestically 
above his head, and a most elaborate shirt frill, that 
must have cost the artist a world of trouble and 
white paint, not to speak of his eyes, which were 
so natural that they followed you into every hole 
and corner of the room ; and there was herself, 
looking most benignly at a pink rose, glorious in a 
satin dress, lace cap, and a most wonderful array 
of jewelry. And there was Captain Howard, on 
one side of the piano as a baby, very fat and sulky, 


M avion Howard ; or , 


360 

and on the other as a boy, not much improved by 
years, and over the mantel-piece as a young man in 
full regimentals. As, however, in this case only 
one side of his face was visible, and that rather dark 
in complexion, it was difficult to say how he did 
look, or whether, in fact, he looked at all, his eyes 
being left completely out of the question. Then 
came portraits more antiquated still, portraits of a 
generation further off, of uncles, aunts, and bosom 
friends. Marion could not help wishing that the 
gentlemen would have combed up their hair before 
honoring the artist with a sitting, and came to the 
conclusion that it would have been an infinite 
improvement if the ladies’ bodices had aspired 
higher, or condescended lower. But they all 
looked very solemn, all seemed intent on impress- 
ing the beholder with the fact that he was in the 
midst of a very respectable people. 

It was not until Marion had eaten as much as 
she possibly could, to be grumbled at affectionately 
for not eating twice as much, that the old lady 
allowed her to begin upon the subject of her visit 
to London. Not that she was the unworthy daugh- 
ter of her great progenitress, but she felt wonderfully 
curious to learn what could have induced Mrs. 
Howard, junior, to send her daughter to visit her 
uninvited. Marion told her story plainly and 
quietly. She spoke of the Darrells warmly; of her 
religion firmly; of Mr. Lisle she said little, but 
Mrs. Howard understood her with the intuition of 
parental love. With regard to her mother she 
simply stated the fact that she would not see her ; 


Trials and Triumphs. 361 

but there was that in Marion’s manner when she 
spoke of her, such a perfect sympathy with her feel- 
ings, although grief at her decision, that the old 
lady dared not blame her to her child, although 
she was secretly boiling over. 

“And you mean to say that your mother has 
disowned you, child ?” 

“ She will not let me go home to her, grand- 
mamma. Is it not a dreadful thing for me ?” 

Mrs. Howard dared not trust herself to reply. 
Both sat in silence, during which the little copper 
kettle on the hob sang merrily, as though it did 
its best to raise their spirits, while Marion said 
many a Hail Mary to its music. 

“ Thank God, I am living still !” said the old 
lady, at length. 

Marion slipped from her chair, and, taking a 
stool, placed herself at her feet. 

“And so you are a Catholic, Marion?” said her 
grandmother, reproachfully, but stroking her hair 
at the same time. 

“Yes, grandmamma. Are you very sorry?” 

“Yes, dear, I am very sorry,” she replied, “be- 
cause there are many things in that religion 
opposed to the Word of God. I think Catholics 
may be very sincere in their love of God and 
Christ crucified, but they mix up a great deal of 
nonsense with it, which I feel very sorry you 
should have learned to believe. But I think I 
shall be able to show you all of this. At any 
rate,” she added, “let you believe what you may, 

you are still my own dear child, my poor, dear 
31 


362 Marion Howard; or ; 

Edward’s little one. I have so longed to see you ; 
indeed, I have just made up my mind that now 
you were a woman, and could act for yourself, and 
travel alone, I would invite you to come and visit 
me this very summer; and see, here you are, quite 
unexpected, but welcome as a swallow in spring.’ , 

Marion smiled, and the old lady continued. 

“You look pale and thin ; you have suffered a 
great deal, I can tell.” 

“Yes, I have, grandma; but things will be 
brighter now.” 

“ But I am afraid, dear, you will be very dull here 
alone with me. I know no young ladies but Miss 
Tompkins and her sister, and they are quite differ- 
ent girls from you ; besides, they must be a good 
deal older.” 

Miss Tompkins and her sister, Miss Jemima, 
were two highly respectable young ladies, very 
neat, very genteel, and very proper, but they were 
rather older than Marion. 

“Grandmamma,” said Marion, looking suddenly 
up, “ I have only come to visit you for a little 
time. I mean to look out for a situation as govern- 
ess,” and Marion told her what Mr. Seymour had 
said. But it was a long time before the old lady, 
in whom dwelt all the pride of the Howards (as she 
phrased it), could be brought to listen to such a 
course. 

“Well, never mind to-night,” she said at length, 
after striving to persuade Marion to give up her 
intention, “ there is ten o’clock striking, and if you 
will not have any supper I must put you to bed.” 


Trials and Triumphs. 



And having lighted her to her room, the old lady 
stayed with her, fondled her, folded up all her 
things, kissed her fifty times, cried over her, and 
never left till she had tucked her up with her own 
hands, bidding her say her prayers in bed, for that 
was not wrong at all when anybody was so tired. 
The instant, however, that grandmamma’s last 
foot-fall had died away down stairs, Marion sprang 
out of bed, said her night-prayers, then laid herself 
down on the couch that had once been her father’s, 
and slept soundly till the morning awoke her with 
its carts and cries. 

Marion lay and watched the winter morning 
struggle in, and light up her quaint little room, 
with its old-fashioned chintz and dingy-looking 
furniture. Weary at last, however, of shaping the 
roses and tulips that adorned her curtains into all 
kinds of eccentricities, she arose and dressed her- 
self. She had just finished her toilette and ended 
her prayers, when her grandmother slipped gently 
in to see whether her little visitor was awake. 
And now that Marion was arrayed in her natty 
morning dress, with the soft shining ringlets ar- 
rayed on each side of the bright speaking face, 
old Mrs. Howard must be pardoned if a momen- 
tary glow of parental pride passed through her 
heart, to be replaced by even a stronger feeling of 
indignation against the mother who could cast 
away so sweet a little flower. But, restraining 
herself to silence when comment must be reproba- 
tion, and reprobation wrong, she contented herself 
with kissing her fondly, and leading her down 


3<H 


Marion Howard ; or , 

— 

to breakfast, where seated on either side, with 
the bright little copper kettle singing forth its very 
heart, they discussed their eggs and coffee, and 
many a past event and future plan besides. Before 
the meal was concluded, won over by Marion’s 
reasoning, Mrs. Howard had consented to her 
seeking an engagement, provided she spent a week 
or two with her first, during which time anxiety of 
every kind was to be banished, for, added she, “ I 
must see a little color in those cheeks before I let 
you go away from me again.” 

And so Golden-hair tried to banish intruding 
cares, and passed even three weeks with her grand- 
mother in what the old lady considered very gay 
doings. For what with morning walks and calls 
in all imaginable parts of Islington, and evening 
tea-drinkings at home and abroad, it seemed to 
her a perfect whirl of dissipation. But she for 
whom all this gayety was planned and indulged, 
grew thinner and paler still, in spite of all, and not- 
withstanding her love for her kind relation, pined 
for the liveliness of the Cedars, and still more for 
the dear home-life at Ennington, with its thousand 
interests. Who can say how the gossips of those 
monotonous tea-parties wearied her young spirit, 
or how sick at heart she grew of the listlessness 
that could find no relief except in a little embroid- 
ery. Sometimes she had to play, but what piece 
or song in her little repertoire, was not mingled, as 
music only is, with almost an agony of associa- 
tions? Old Mrs. Howard was all that could be 
desired in aged womanhood — but her friends ! 


3^5 


Trials and Triumphs. 

On more than one state occasion, when the best 
china and the silver tea-pot figured upon the table, 
and Anne, in “ best bib and tucker/’ handed around 
the fragrant hyson, and almost imaginary bread 
and butter, “ Surely,” thought Marion, “ grand- 
mamma must have a fancy for disagreeable look- 
ing people.” And they were an unpromising selec- 
tion, beginning at the two old ladies in the corner, 
who were discussing church and parish matters 
like veteran vestrymen, down to Miss Jemima in 
the white muslin. But when they were gone, 
and they generally went early (there being only 
one of Mrs. Howard’s coterie who had masculine 
protection at hand), when they were gone, then 
Marion found her tongue. Then she laughed and 
made her grandmother laugh, till one would have 
wondered how two people could find so much 
merriment, where, half an hour before there had 
been nothing but state. So it never once struck 
Mrs. Howard that Marion was dull; she never for 
an instant imagined that the daily walk in High- 
bury had something of sameness in it, or that 
the conversation of her friends to-day was the 
same as yesterday and the day before, and would 
be, in all probability, the same to-morrow and the 
day after. 

But this same conversation of Mrs. Howard’s 
friends was destined to find fresh fuel. On the 
Monday morning after Marion’s third Sunday in 
Islington, a certain Miss Snagg called on the 
Misses Tompkins, and after a few minutes’ chat, 

during which time it remained poised on her 

31 * 


Marion Howard ; or, 


366 

tongue, like the tit-bit on an epicure’s fork, out 
came a most tremendous secret. No sooner had 
she departed than on went their bonnets, and down 
went the secret to Mrs. Smith, and up to Miss 
Brown, and then to the little woman at the post 
office, to the lending library and wool shop at the 
corner of tee street, crossing and re-crossing the 
circle of Mrs. Howard’s friends in Islington, like the 
flux and reflux of the sea. Then the storm burst. 
The Rev. Mr. Glumley called from Mrs. Smith, 
and the Rev. Mr. Singles from Miss Brown ; the 
former groaning in spirit over the defection of the 
age, the latter simpering and sighing in the deepest 
sympathy. Both were entertained by grandmamma, 
both drank two or three glasses of port in consoling 
her, and both departed without seeing the object 
of their call and curiosity, who sat in her own 
room reading Thomas a Kempis. Then tracts 
enough to have lighted the fires at the Cedars for a 
week poured in from “sincere well-wishers,” while 
such a “ No Popery” cry was raised through Barns- 
bury, that one would have said the Pope was going 
to send over another cardinal, or found a double 
hierarchy in Great Britain. 

At first grandmamma was amused, then vexed, 
then evidently tired of the question, which was fast 
making herself and her little home the butt of the 
slanderer. She loved Marion dearly, the child had 
tightly twined herself around her old heart; but 
she did not want to lose her friends, or still less 
her high prerogatives as general umpire and uni- 
versal favorite. Marion soon saw that there was 


3<57 


Trials and Triumphs 

but one way to restore affairs to their pristine calm- 
ness, and commenced in earnestness her proposed 
plan. She inserted advertisements, and answered 
them, “personally and by letter,” rode miles 
crushed and stifled in omnibuses, and trudged 
many weary ones on foot. But to what purpose? 
To be told, after crossing London, that the “ lady 
was suited;” to be questioned like a house-maid, 
and then dismissed to hear no more; to be buoyed 
up by a sweet lady face one day, who thought she 
might suit, and then receive the gentle note next 
morning, regretting “ that she was too young.” 
Then she applied to men agents, who shrugged 
their shoulders at the word Catholic; to women 
agents, who talked loudly, and told her that, as her 
qualifications were so few, she must be contented 
with a salary from which she knew Mrs. Darrell’s 

cook would have turned awav. Then she called 

✓ 

on priests, who promised to do what they could, 
but who smiled sadly, and talked of twenty or 
thirty converts already on their lists, and who sent 
her to convents, where the nuns congratulated her, 
shook her two hands, kissed her two cheeks, 
longed to help her, but except with their prayers, 
could do no more. 

At last a daily governess was advertised for in 
Islington itself, salary liberal, exactly Marion’s 
qualifications required. The poor child put on her 
bonnet. Perhaps she might get this, which would 
at least prevent her being a burden on her grand- 
mother, if it did nothing else. 

7 o 

The lady was a widow, rather stiff and business- 


368 Marion Howard ; or, 

like, but kind in her manner, and was evidently 
struck by our little heroine’s tout ensemble. She 
asked for references. Marion wrote Mrs. Darrell’s 
address upon her card, saying, however, that except 
with regard to her position, it was, of course, value- 
less, as she had never taught in her life. 

“I understand that,” replied the lady; “but my 
children are young, and if you are naturally syste- 
matic, we shall manage very well. If the reference 
be satisfactory, as I feel sure it will, you shall hear 
from me, deciding the day on which we will 
commence.” 

Marion replied by one of her own bright smiles, 
and rose to take her leave. 

“Pardon me,” said the lady, “there is one thing 
I have forgotten to ask. I presume you are a 
member of the Church of England ?” 

“ No, I am a Catholic,” said Marion, firmly. 

“ A Catholic !” repeated the lady ; “ then excuse 
me, I will return your reference. A Catholic ! 
That would not do at all. And you would have 
allowed me to engage you without mentioning 
this?” 

“ I did not think it would signify in daily tui- 
tion,” repeated Marion. 

“ But it does signify very much,” returned the 
other angrily. “ How fortunate I should have 
asked you ! I would not subject my little ones 
to Catholic influence for all I could see on earth. 
Of course I cannot expect you to see this, it is 
difficult to open the eyes of one born blind.” 

“ Difficult, but no more impossible now with 


Trials and Triumphs. 369 

God, than in the days gone by,” answered Marion, 
“ for I myself was a Protestant once.” 

“Then take my advice, young lady; go home 
and study your Bible, which will soon bring you 
back again. This you have not done much as 
yet, I am certain, for no girl who read her Bible 
ever became a Romanist.” 

Thoro ughly Catholic as Marion Howard was, 
she had yet to learn detachment. The gift of 
Henry Lisle had been too dear to relinquish, and 
the little black book still lingered in her pocket, 
though, looking on it as a spurious version of the 
Word of God, its religious value had departed. 

“There is something I should like to show 
you, if you will look at it,” said Marion, quietly. 

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Gordon, recoiling, 
for what small specimen of Romish superstition 
might be coming, she did not know. “ What is 
it?” 

“ Only a Protestant Bible.” 

“A Protestant Bible! You surely do not mean 
to say your priests let you carry that about with 
you ? 

“ I keep it for the sake of an old friend,” replied 
Marion; “but what I want to show you is this. 
Take it in your hand, and tell me if it has been 
unread. Every mark is mine, made in my Pro- 
testant days, under texts that I loved best. Believe 
me, when I tell you, that that Bible has been 
deeply, earnestly, prayerfully read, and yet I am a 
Catholic !” 

“ Strange !” said the lady, as she turned over 


370 


Marion Howard ; or, 

page after page, black with pencil marks, “ but, so 
much the worse. I consider you a real tool, the 
more so that I think you are intelligent.” 

‘‘I wish I was,” said Marion, smiling; “I should 
make all the better Catholic.” 

“Catholic!” repeated Mrs. Gordon; “Roman 
Catholic, you mean ! We are Catholics.” 

“And yet,” said Marion, smiling, “if a man 
asked you the way to the Catholic Church, you 
would not direct him to your own.” 

“ Perhaps not, because even Protestants get into 
the silly habit of misapplying the term. But it is 
not the less a misapplication of all that.” 

“ I shall not convince her if I contradict her,” 
thought Marion, so she held her peace. 

“You think I am very hard on you; do you 
not?” asked Mrs. Gordon, gradually unbending. 

“ Rather,” said Marion. 

“ I have so much reason to believe so,” replied 
the lady; “I once lost an old and valued friend by 
such a step as you have taken, for we have been 
strangers since.” 

“Was that her fault?” asked Marion, with rather 
a piercing look. 

“ No,” said the lady, hesitating, “ it was neither 
my friend’s fault nor mine, exactly. My family 
feared this influence for me in the same way that I 
fear it now for my own children,” she continued, 
listlessly turning over the leaves of the book; “and 
this very morning I have received a letter in which 
this Catholic religion figures very painfully. It is 
dreadful to see the havoc this evil is making in the 


37 1 


Trials and Triumphs. 

bosom of families. One hears of it, really, on 
every side now.” 

“ Because the Catholic religion is spreading,” 
replied Marion. 

“But its day is over, nevertheless,” rejoined the 
lady; “you know, the expiring lamp always gives 
a bright gleam before it dies.” 

“It flickers,” returned Marion, “but does it not 
grow silently and surely brighter every moment? 
For my own part, I believe the trial of the Church, 
inflicted for the sins and irregularities of her chil- 
dren, is passing away, and my own deep conviction 
is, that England will be Catholic again. Not by 
any sudden convulsion, but that she will glide back 
into the bosom of the old faith, man by man 
renouncing error, till the truth shall gleam like one 
of our own altars, that has been silently lighted, 
taper by taper, till the whole shines forth in a flood 
of min’gled light.” The last sentence was lost in 
an exclamation from Mrs. Gordon. 

All the time that Marion had been speaking, she 
had been turning over the leaves of the book, and 
now sat looking at the title page, transfixed with 
astonishment. 

“ My child, how came you by this book ?” 

Marion was too much surprised by the sudden- 
ness of the question, to attempt a reply. 

“ I ask you,” continued Mrs. Gordon, in an 
agitated voice, pointing to the initials already men- 
tioned, “ because, O ! because that is my handwrit- 
ing ! How, in the name of heaven, came it yours ?” 

Marion trembled like an aspen. In whose pres- 


37 2 Marion Howard ; or y 

ence was she then ? Mrs. Gordon ! The truth 
flashed upon her in an instant, but she made a 
tremendous effort, and was calm. 

“You wrote those initials?” 

“I did, many years ago. Who gave the book 
to you ?” 

“Your brother, for I know now that I speak to 
the sister of Henry Lisle.” 

“And you!” asked Mrs. Gordon, grasping her 
arm. 

“ I am Marion Howard ; have you heard of me ?” 
“You shall see,” said Mrs. Gordon, rising as she 
spoke, and opening an escritoir. “ Read that,” 
she continued, putting a letter into Marion’s hand* 
She did read it, read it to the very end, though it 
seemed as though her heart was wrung by the 
intensity with which she read it. It was a long 
and bitter letter, written by Henry Lisle, in the 
extremity of his grief, and ended with these words : 
“ Perhaps of all living beings, you, Agnes, can best 
sympathize with me in my trouble, since the dark 
waters now surrounding me once flowed so deeply 
over your own soul. I know that he is with you 
now, only a memory of the past, and therefore, 
I may tell you of one drop of bitterness in my cup, 
not the least bitter, perhaps, of all. It is, that 

■n 

the author of this poor child’s perversion is George 
Stirling ! It is said that the sweetest wine makes 
the sharpest vinegar; and it is true, for it is hard 
to look from the dear friend of the past, to the 
plotting priest of the present, and to love him 
still. O Agnes ! if I dare, how I should hate 


373 


Trials and Triumphs . 

him ! I can only seek from Him who prayed 
for His murderers upon His cross, strength to 
conquer this feeling, strength to look still with 
brotherly love on the murderer of my life’s happi- 
ness, if not of Marion Howard’s soul, for the 
darkest shadow of all is, that we are perhaps 
separated for both time and eternity ! I leave 
Ennington for my new parish to-morrow. ‘ Man 
proposes ; God disposes.’ What is it now to me, 
that the Rectory is all that I could desire ? They 
wanted me to hasten down, that I might be con- 
sulted in the papering of my new home, but I 
wrote and told them to do what they liked, for 
that I was easy to please. I am so very wretched ! 
You will tell me to pray for resignation ; so I 
do, but I seem hard and wrong when I pray. 
Howard is unaltered — the same as ever, but there 
is a kind of shadow over her, that one feels, rather 
than sees. She has a proud, high spirit; but she is 
not warm-hearted, and though I admire her for 
qualities I know her to possess, were she not 
Marion’s mother, there would be but little sympa- 
thy between us. Even now I sometimes fear the 
ruling feeling with her is offended pride, for she 
has never once spoken of this sad affair to me in a 
spiritual light. But I may mistake her, she is 
so thoroughly undemonstrative. I tremble for 
Marion ; so young a creature, wandering alone 
th rough the great world ! But what is to be done? 
She has cast us off; we have not rejected her. 
I will write again, from Sandiham. Good-by.” 

Marion did not raise her eyes from the letter, 

32 


374 Marion Howard; or, 

even when she finished reading it, but sat looking 
abstractly at the words, even while she no longer 
read them. They had given her both pain and 
pleasure. Pleasure that she was still so deeply 
loved, pain in the depth of her separation from 
him ; pleasure that her mother bore up bravely, 
but pain in the creeping shadow, in the isolation 
she so well understood of that cold, proud heart. 

Mrs. Gordon looked fixedly at her, as though 
striving to read her very soul. 

“ This has been a strange meeting,” she re- 
marked, at length. 

Marion’s only reply was a burst of tears. In an 
instant Mrs. Gordon’s arms were around her neck. 

“ Marion ! little sister,” she exclaimed, “ look 
up ! A Catholic governess for my children was 
one thing, the object of my brother’s love another. 
He may spurn you with that same rash prejudice 
that once embittered my own life, but Agnes 
Gordon never will. I can see as clearly as any 
one, the errors of the faith you have embraced, 
but at the same time I see also the still deeper one 
of striving to force you into truth. If my mother 
had been living to have counselled a different treat- 
ment with poor George, things might have been 
very different. I have no doubt a little leniency 
would have led him back to re-examine for himself 
the doctrines of our purer faith, and would have 
saved us years of sorrow and heart-burning, and 
him a lifetime of error.” 

Marion did not answer, but clung to her new 
friend. 


Trials and Triumphs . 375 

It was late that evening before she returned 
to Mrs. Howard’s, and later still before she and 
the old lady retired to rest, for she had a strange 
tale to tell. A tale of how she had found the 
sister of Henry Lisle in the pale, quiet widow, and 
how that sister had received her with open arms, 
and had sympathized with her in deep grief, though 
she could not enter into her deeper enthusiasm. 
And then she spoke of the bright and beautiful 
children, and how the spirit of the father still 
seemed to cling around the home, so recently 
bereaved. For though he had not been her first 
and girlish dream, Agnes Gordon had loved her 
husband with a wife’s truest devotion, and mourned 
for him as those only mourn, who, were it not for 
the father in heaven, and children on earth, would 
sink beneath their load. Since her bereavement, 
her life had been very lonely; friends she had 
few, for those she loved were far away, and the 
quiet reserved Scotch woman cared not to make 
acquaintances in her adopted home. And yet she 
clung to London, and the old house in Islington, 
that had been the scene of her married life, every 
room of which was so endeared by the shadows of 
the past. She loved to sit alone in the winter 
evenings, before the lights came in, and imagine 
another chair not vacant, and to fancy a voice now 
hushed in death still floating around her. And 
the narrow garden where he had loved to work, 
the room where he had kept his things, the corner 
where he had sat, the bed whereon he had died, 
and from which the sweet white face looked up so 


376 


M avion Howard ; or , 


peacefully to heaven, these were to Agnes Gordon 
the sunniest spots on earth. And yet even amid 
the relics of such a devotion as this, the widow 
clung instinctively to Marion, not only for Henry’s 
sake, but because she suffered now, what she 
herself had suffered once. 

Old Mrs. Howard opened her eyes at the recital, 
and might have failed to realize it, had not Mrs. 
Gordon made her appearance the next morning to 
ask her to spare her little visitor, to spend a few 
days with her. The old lady consented, sorry 
to lose her pet, but not loath to give the chatter of 
her friends a chance of subsiding. 

“ Mrs. Gordon, please do not send that letter!” 
cried Marion, as she finished reading one, just 
placed in her hand ; “ really, really, it is too 
severe.” 

“Too severe, Marion! I cannot see it.” 

“But it is indeed ; what could a Catholic girl be 
to him now, a Protestant clergyman, and what claim 
have I on his forbearance ?” 

“ The claim of Christian charity, the claim of old 
friendship, the claim of a girl whose affection he 
has won. I do not say more, for I know that more 
is impossible ; but what right has he to be angry 
with you ? and why, worse than all, should he 
excite your own mother against you, when you have 
only done what you believe to be your duty? 
Marion, it was Henry’s counsel to my father that 
helped to blight so many years of my own youth, 
and that drove a bright and genial spirit into gloom 
and isolation. For that I have forgiven him, for 


Trials and Triumphs . 


377 


lie was young and impetuous then, but now he is 
older, and ought to have grown wiser with his 
years. Yes, let the letter go; I want him to see 
though I pity his sorrow, I do not endorse his 
conduct. I should like to tell him how we met, 
and that even now a certain little lady sits in my 
own parlor facing me ; but you think it would make 
your mamma more uneasy if she heard that you 
had left Mrs. Darrell; ” 

“ I am sure it would,” replied Marion. “ She 
looks upon me, I know, as comparatively safe at 
the Cedars. As for the letter, I wish it was a little 
less severe,” continued the little pleader. 

“ Not a whit, my love ! It is not often I get angry, 
but anything like intolerance rouses me at once. 
My poor dear husband helped to disperse many 
of the ideas Henry had instilled into me. But if I 
am liberal, I am not blind, and if there be one thing 
for which I have an especial distaste, it is the 
Catholic religion.” 

“ Perhaps you do not understand it,” suggested 
Marion. 

“ Yes I do, very well ; I have heard the subject 
so often handled and re-handled.” 

“By Catholics or Protestants?” asked her visi- 
tor. 

“ By Protestants, for it is a strange thing, per- 
haps, but I never remember having a Catholic 
acquaintance in my life.” 

“ Did you ever go to one of our churches ?” 

“ Never.” 

“ Will you come with me some evening ?” 


3/8 


Marion Howard; or. 

You little Jesuit!” cried Mrs. Gordon, laugh- 
ing, “ what would poor Harry think the world was 
coming to, if he ever saw you sitting there, with 
your wicked blue eyes, making me such a cool 
request as that? Well, we will see.” 

Mrs. Gordon did see, and the result was, that 
she went to Benediction with Marion the next 
Sunday evening. 

“ What did you think of the services ?” asked 
Golden- hair, of her companion, who had been 
walking by her side for some time in profound 
silence. 

“ This ; that unless I wished my children to 
become Catholics, I would never suffer them to 
enter a Catholic church. I never saw anything so 
beautiful !” 

You are right, Mrs. Gordon. But it was not 
this beauty that bowed into obedience the great 
mind and high spirit of George Stirling, nor that 
conquered the home-love in Marion Howard’s 
heart ! Look again, there is something more 
than this. 



9 



CHAPTER XIX. 


( j T was a boisterous day at sea, and the packet- 
1| boat running from Newhaven to Dieppe danced 
M on the waves, till every glass in the steward’s 
^ cabin jingled. The English shores had not 
faded, but already a most forlorn and miserable 
party were lying prostrate in the ladies’ cabin, and 
most wretched, when all were miserable, was little 
Golden-hair. “ Even the stewardess is ill,” whis- 
pered a strong-minded passenger, as she arranged 
an incapable friend in her birth. “ Dear me, how 
ill you look ! Why, I am never sea-sick and she 
once more returned to her seat on deck. 

“ Eau saitcree /” cried a French belle, and the 
poor pale stewardess compounded the abominable 
beverage. “A little brandy!” cried an English 
one ; and once again the unfortunate attendant 
stumbled about the cabin. 

“ O dear ! O dear ! what shall I do ?” sobbed 
a poor little girl. “ Mamma, do come to me ; I 
cannot bear it any longer !” 

44 But you must, my dear, and you must not dis- 
turb the ladies. You will be better soon,” expos- 
tulated the stewardess. 

Mamma was on deck, and nurse unable to lift 

379 


380 Marion Howard ; or, 

her head, so the poor child fell back again on her 
pillow with a groan of despair. Again there was 
silence in the cabin, if it could be called such, amid 
the blustering of the wind, the rattle of the engines, 
and the clatter of plates and dishes from without. 
O, those people! how could they eat? Yet eat 
they did, and that with as much nonchalance as 
though they had been in their dining-rooms at 
home. And so the hours dragged on, only enliv- 
ened by the arrival of some fresh sufferer from 
above, amongst them the hardy lady, who would 
have been ashamed of her weakness, had she not 
been too ill even to blush. 

But all things have an end, even sea-sickness; 
and by the time Marion had dressed herself, and 
the packet had touched at the landing-place, she 
almost wondered what had become of the suffering' 

o 

that had bowed her so helplessly during the last 
few hours. It was not long before she was in 
the train, whirling through picturesque Normandy, 
still sad, however, in its winter barrenness, and 
growing every moment less and less distinct in 
the early March twilight. But Marion, as she 
passed along, saw many a village, dotted among 
the hardy budding trees, nestling around the 
patriarchal tower, that rose like the presiding 
genius of each little hamlet. Uncouth specimens 
of architecture were they all to Marion, but though 
she thought of England’s far brighter villages, how 
cold the comparison seemed ! What was the Eng- 
lish hamlet, with its elegant manor-house and 
parsonage, its cottages, ornes, and stately spire, 


Trials and Triumphs . 381 

to these little villages with their moss-grown 
churches? What the shadow is to the substance, 
the dream is to the reality ; for Marion knew that 
beneath each tower and steeple that she passed, 
the Lord God Omnipotent was reigning in the 
Sacrament of His love. She was in a Catholic 
country ! The idea was almost too exquisite to be 
realized. Every man, woman, and child she saw, 
thought as she did, prayed as she did, loved as 
she did ! 

Then she leaned back in the carriage, and 
thought and dreamed as she had done from Har- 
leyford to London, but even since then the kalei- 
doscope of life had shifted for her, and though she 
had a friend the more, she had many a hope the 
less. Her London confessor had found her the 
engagement, that she was now on her road to 
Paris, to undertake, and though notwithstanding 
her horror of Catholic governesses, Mrs. Gordon 
would willingly have kept Marion with her, she 
saw plainly that it was the young girl’s duty to fit 
herself for the future. She, however, insisted on 
sharing with Mrs. Howard the expenses of the 
journey and outfit, and it only remained for the 
poor little Golden-hair to pack her new dresses, 
sob her thanks to each loved donor, and take her 
departure for her dreaded sojourn in the land of 
strangers. 

It was so late when the train reached the Gare 
St. Lazare, that Marion determined to stop at a 
hotel with a lady who had been her fellow-travel- 
ler during the journey, and not proceed to the 


382 Marion Howard ; or t 

establishment of Mme. Le Brun until morning. 

o 

After a tussle with certain men in blue, who in- 
sisted on an extra coin, of the value of which 
Marion was profoundly ignorant, the ride through 
Paris commenced. Except, however, a constant 
variation of long streets now bright with gas, now 
deep in shadow, now loud with the hum of voices, 
now silent in midnight stillness, Marion could 
distinguish little. 

“The Louvre” — “the Tuileries,” said her com- 
panion. 

A vast building surrounded by a gilded rail, was 
our heroine’s impression of the palace of kings, but 
he thought of Louis the Sixteenth and the howl- 
ing revolutionists, and trembled to find herself in 
Paris. 

“ The Seine,” said the lady, as they crossed a 
bridge. Marion looked at the silent waters in 
which the lamps and stars were reflected, and 
wondered how much was true of the story of St. 
Bartholomew’s Day. But they soon stopped at 
the hotel selected by her companion, and before 
long, Marion was lying in the neatest of Lrench 
beds, dreaming of Ennington and the Cedars all 
in one. She was only just dressed the following 
morning, when her companion knocked at her 
door. 

“ I have been thinking,” said the lady, after the 
morning’s salutation, “that it is time we knew each 
other’s name.” 

“Certainly, ” said Marion, presenting her with a 
card. 


Trials and Triumphs , 


3§3 


“ I do not happen to have my card-case with 
me,” returned the other, “ but I am Miss Hobart 

Jones, Place, Belgravia. ” The manner with 

which the name and address were given was so 
pompous, that Marion was obliged to bow very low 
to hide the smile, which her sense of the ludicrous 
brought to her lips. “ As I informed you last 
night,” continued Miss Jones, “ one of my trunks, 
which I did not register, is lost, and I must return 
to the Gare to look for it. If you are not in a 
hurry to arrive at your destination, perhaps you 
will accompany me. ” 

“ I shall be very happy to do so,” said Marion. 

“ We will breakfast then, first, at the table d’hote; 
but I suppose, as it is Sunday, you will want to go 
to church.” 

“ Indeed I shall,” replied Marion ; “ shall not you ?” 

“ As for that, it will be a matter of half an hour 
for me,” replied Miss Jones. “We will go to the 
Place du Havre first, and see about my box, then I 
will take you to the Protestant Church in the Rue 
d’Aguessau, and I will just catch the Messe de 
Midi for myself at the Madeleine, for you must 
know that I am a Catholic.” 

“ So am I,” said Marion. 

“Capital!” exclaimed her companion ;“ then we 
will get Mass over first, directly after breakfast, 
and then we shall be free to do as we like.” 

Get Mass over! One would have imagined she 
was going to have a tooth drawn. Marion thought 
of Father Stirling and the little chapel at Harley- 
ford, and sighed. 


Marion Howard ; or y 


334 

They breakfasted and set off to the Madeleine. 
Here, however, Marion was disappointed, for hers 
was a nature that associated pillar and arch, and 
“dim religious gloom” with church architecture; 
but following her guide, who stepped on before 
with the air of one accustomed to the place, she 
entered a row of seats. But here a difficulty pre- 
sented itself ; for how could she possibly hear Mass 
seated on her chair, and yet how kneel in the 
limited space allotted her ? She looked at her 
companion, who, however, solved the problem by 
tipping up the chair before her, and accommodating 
herself on the rail. Marion tried to imitate her, 
but O, the misery of that first Mass in Paris, as she 
knelt, trying to steady the chair with one hand and 
hold her book with the other. 

It would be difficult to say through what streets 
her companion did not drag Marion, or what lions 
she did not show her. And yet, by the afternoon, 
except a glimmering idea of streets with many 
people, but comparatively few vehicles, of open 
shops that wrung her heart for Catholic Paris, 
but into which Miss Jones peeped with the utmost 
unconcern, of large churches with shifting con- 
gregations, of houses looking very woodeny and 
unsubstantial, of women wearing caps instead of 
bonnets, and many men in blue, Marion had but a 
very faint idea of Paris. 

“You will like Paris,” observed Miss Plobart 
Jones, as they stood in the Place de la Concorde, 
looking up the Champs Elysees, at the Arc de 
Triomphe, “ do you not think so ?” 


Trials and Triumphs . 385 

“I cannot tell yet,” said Marion; “it seems very 
gay. Is it always like this ?” 

“Yes, always, only a great deal gayer. Do you 
not think you will be very happy ?” 

“ Not unless the place I am going to is quieter,” 
said Marion, and she mentioned a quarter at which 
Miss Jones turned up her nose. 

“ You never mean to say you are going there ? 
Quelle vie! Why it is the dullest quarter in all 
Paris. Nothing but schools and convents.” 

“That is just what I like. I am a country girl, 
and am accustomed to a quiet life.” 

“Well, chacun a son gout /” exclaimed her com- 
panion ; “ as for me, I cannot understand such 
things. I like life, gayety, bustle ! Quite time 
enough to sit and mope when you are too old 
to do anything better. I think while we are 
young we have a right to think more of pleasure 
than anything else ; I do, indeed,” she continued 
energetically, as though somebody were contra- 
dicting. “For one thing,” she continued, drawing 
herself up, “ the circle in which I move is very 
high, my friends in Paris being chiefly among its 
aristocracy. I am only over here now by th~ 
especial invitation of the Comtesse de Pierrepoint. 
She is a charming creature, an old bosom friend 
of mine, and has promised to let me do just as I 
like. I am an invalid just at present, and am to be 
quiet, therefore she has promised mamma not to take 
me out to more than two dinner parties a week.” 
Marion glanced at Miss Hobart Jones, and 

thought it was almost time for her to be out of 

33 


386 Marion Howard ; or, 

mamma's jurisdiction. She also thought of the 
steam-rate at which they had been traversing Paris, 
and wondered how fast Miss Jones walked when 
she was well. The idea, too, struck her rather 
forcibly, that the bosom friend of the Comptesse 
de Pierrepoint might have stopped short a few 
stairs lower the previous evening. It was all very 
well for Marion Howard, the little governess, to 
mount to the cinquieme , but for Miss Hobart 

Jones, Place, Belgravia — moving in the most 

exalted circles in Paris — it was rather too much ! 
Marion knew very little of the world, but she 
knew better than this, and was naughty enough to 
wish that her new acquaintance was anything but a 
Catholic. Silly little thing ! She had yet to learn 
that though the sunbeam may thaw the icicle, the 
icicle, with all its frigidity, has no power to lessen 
the life-giving warmth of the sun ; but it was hard, 
in the burst of her first fervor, to understand a tepid 
or indifferent Catholic. 

Marion was not sorry to bid Miss Hobart Jones 
good-by, and find herself on the road to the estab- 
lishment of Madame le Brun. The bell rang, the 
gate opened, the luggage was deposited in the 
court, but it was not till Marion had paid her 
coachman, and heard the voiture lumber back 
over the ill-paved streets, and the great gate close 
with a bang, that she felt she was really alone 
in a foreign country, and in a house of strangers. 

Never, perhaps, had Marion met a form of more 
quiet dignity, than that of the mistress of the 
house, who now advanced to meet her. She was 


3 8 7 


Trials ana Triumphs . 

simply but elegantly dressed, in the black so loved 
by Frenchwomen, and her pretty lace cap, with its 
delicate ribbons, was arranged over her large curls, 
with the studied carelessness a Francaise only 
understands. But notwithstanding her gentle man- 
ner and soft words, the softer, perhaps, that they 
were spoken in musical broken English, and not- 
withstanding a smile that shone in every feature, 
Marion did not like her. There was a hard cold- 
ness in the light gray eye, that somehow reminded 
her of a snowy peak rising amid the sunshine 
of a tropical land. She received Marion kindly, 
though certainly a great part of the warmth of 
her manner subsided, when she found the newly 
arrived was simply la maitr sse Anglais e. 

After a few inquiries concerning her voyage, 
madame, summoning one of the elder girls, deputed 
her to lead mademoiselle to her room. The 
child complied, and showed her a small chamber, 
to which her boxes had been already conveyed, 
and then, retiring, left her to herself. Marion 
looked around. It was a square room, paved with 
red tiles, and containing a little bed, three chairs of 
different patterns, a chest of drawers, and a wash- 
stand. Muslin blinds shaded the windows in the 
French fashion, and Marion saw that her prospect 

was the single street of , not uninteresting 

to her, with its inhabitants in Sunday costume, 
grouped around its doors and on the narrow path- 
way. Glancing again around her little room, she 
was not altogether displeased with it, comfortless 
as it was. She had half dreaded something worse, 


388 Marion Howard ; or y 

and, determining to be brave, she followed her 
little guide, who soon reappeared, with a light foot. 
The child chattered as she went, but though Marion 
possessed sufficient knowledge of French to under- 
stand, she had not confidence enough to attempt a 
reply, so, satisfied with nods and signs in return for 
her communications, the little prattler led Marion 
from dortoir to lavabo , from the lingerie to the gar- 
den, and finally landed her in the saloon, with la 
Petite maman , as madame was styled by her estab- 
lishment. The room was thoroughly French, and 
to Marion thoroughly uncomfortable looking, and 
as she glanced at the bare floor and hard chairs, 
with the little round green mat in front of each, she 
felt very strange. 

“You will dine with me, as it is the first day,” 
said madame, condescendingly. 

Marion bowed, but never felt so much inclined 
to go without her dinner. 

Madame talked and tried to make herself agree- 
able, but Marion seemed frightened, dull, and — 
must we confess it ? — proud ; and she grew tired 
of the attempt, and proposed that Eugenie should 
conduct mademoiselle to the garden. 

Sunday being jour de reception , many of the 
children’s parents were walking about the gar- 
den, which was large and in tolerable order, and 
Eugenie, seeing her companion’s wish to avoid 
them, turned into a little thicket of trees. 

“La chapelle de la Sainte Vierge ,” she remarked, 
as they paused before a little building. It had 
once been pretty, but it was very dirty, and fast 


3§9 


Trials and Triumphs. 

falling into decay. Marion thought of the chapel 
at the Cedars, and felt sadder than ever. But she 
entered, and, to the surprise of Eugenie, who im- 
agined that every English girl must be a Protes- 
tant, knelt down before the altar, though it must 
be owned that the broken vases and dingy roses 
gave her many distractions. 

At this moment the elder girls returned from 
Vespers, and Eugenie, leading her into the recrea- 
tion ground,- where all were assembled, introduced 
the Maitresse Anglaise to both pupils and teachers. 
It was a hard task to be looked at and questioned, 
without a word to give in reply ; to be in the posi- 
tion of a teacher, and yet to feel as bashful as a 
new pupil, amid the ebb and flow of the strange 
language around. They, however, meant to be 
kind, and did their best, though it was a real relief 
to Marion when the summons to dinner arrived. 
But she soon found that she had only exchanged 
one discomfort for another, for what with the 
strange people, strange dishes, and strange tongue, 
Marion had never felt so weary as during the two 
hours that Madame Le Brun and her friends 
remained at table. But the dinner came to an 
end at last, and by nine o’clock Marion had sobbed 
herself to sleep in her little red-tiled room. 

It would be impossible to describe the utter 
loneliness of Marion’s life in the French school. 
The time occupied in giving her lessons, weary as 
they were to her from the frivolity of her pupils, 
hung perhaps the least heavily on her hands. In 

the evening, her only place of refuge was either 

33 * 


390 


Marion Howard ; or. 


9 

her cold, comfortless little room, the dirty, noisy 
classes, reiterating with cries of “ Taisez vous done 
bavardes /” and “ Voulez vous vous taire mesdemoi- 
selles ?” or else the even noisier lingerie , with the 
lingeres and sewing women for her companions. 
Of this miserable selection the latter was Marion’s 
choice by day, though all three were tried by turns. 
And what a choice it was ! Nothing but litter and 
uproar, with the younger children, to whom it 
formed a kind of nursery, constantly trotting in 
and out. But at night it was different ; for then it 
was that a circle was formed around the table near 
the heated poele , with the shaded lamp in the 
middle, all busy with their needle-work. Why, 
then, did Marion, just coming up from that cold 
salle de piano , where she passed the earlier part of 
her evenings practising, why did she turn away 
from the merry party, and run up stairs to her 
room, where, wrapped in her winter mantle, she sat 
sobbing, in spite of the morning resolution to be- 
brave ? Marion Howard could bear the noisy chil- 
dren, she had learned, after a struggle never known 
on earth, to take her meals in a refectory, the des- 
cription of which would not be believed by unso- 
phisticated ears ; she could tolerate the hundred 
other inconveniences of a second rate or third rate 
French pensionnant , but she could not bear the 
conversation of this hour of license, although the 
party only consisted of the disengaged sous-mai- 
tresses , and the prim-looking little lingeres. 

“ QiC est ce qu ’ il-ya de mal ?” asked the mistress 
of the second class. Poor little soul ! she cannot 


39 * 


Trials and Triumphs . 

see that the conversation is wanting in womanly 
reticence; and so, while Marion sits up stairs, pre- 
ferring the cold bedroom and the loneliness of her 
own pure little heart to the warm lingerie , with its 
busy tongues, mademoiselle continues her tale, 
amid such peals of laughter, that even la petite 
Ala/nan herself is at length aroused by the tapage. 
Poor sous-maitresses ! Surely, when God shall 
make up His jewels, they who in this life of unpa- 
ralleled slavery shall have kept their faith, their 
hope, their charity intact, and their hearts un- 
spotted from the world, shall shine lustrously 
indeed. 



CHAPTER XX. 


1 

3 


r 


N 

J 


T was a dreary afternoon in the beginning of 
October. The leaves were fluttering down 


fast from the trees, and the chrysanthemums 
fell heavily and untidily across the paths, 
beaten down by the autumn rains. It was the 
last week of the long holidays, which had seemed 
doubly long to Marion, passed, as they had been, 
in the dingy classes. Had she been alone, she 
would have felt her solitude less, but about a dozen 
of the most unruly children had been left behind, 
under the melancholy guard of the sous-maitresses y 
who were expected to return to what was truly for 
them a house of bondage, for alternate fortnights, 
during their holidays. Miserable companions were 
they, each and all, as, groaning for the hour of 
their emancipation, they occupied themselves mean- 
while in reading romances and scolding their awk- 
ward squad. 

Hardly a glimpse of the great city had Marion 
had, beyond the race over it with Miss Hobart 
Jones; for though she had been unoccupied during 
the whole two months of her holidays, she had not 
dared to venture forth alone. Utterly weary, there- 
fore, of doing nothing, for the simple reason that 

39 2 


Trials and Triumphs . 393 

there was nothing to be done, the poor girl looked 
forward with positive pleasure to the recommence- 
ment of her humdrum occupation, for anything 
would be better than idleness, so she quite longed 
for the moment when the classes should be again 
reechoing with their usual hum. Already la petite 
Maman , all the fresher from the Bains de Mer y was 
looking into everything and everywhere, while the 
lingeres , in renovated dresses, were working faster 
than ever, as they told stories of their holidays by 
the dozen. Marion had grown so tired of the 
uproar in the class, that she had stolen away to the 
music-room, and seated herself at the piano, but 
she could not play. Every chord she struck 
seemed mournfully akin to the dreariness of the 
dirty room, with its three shabby pianos, and the 
faint smell of dead leaves, creeping up through the 
open window. She arose, and, descending to the 
garden, strolled along the wet paths towards the 
little chapel, that looked more dingy and neglected 
than ever, with its muddy footprints and rain- 
splashed windows. But Marion knelt and took 
out her rosary, for dust and dirt had lost their dis- 
turbing influence since her residence in the Pension- 
fiat of Madame Le Brun. 

“ Ma’amselle,” said a voice, behind her, and a 
letter was placed in her hand. It was well she 
received it as she knelt, well that she read it there, 
well that the servant walked away without observ- 
ing the sudden paleness of her cheek, as her eyes 
caught the black border of the envelope. Marion 
opened it; old Mrs. Howard was no more! 


394 


Marion Howard ; or } 


The letter fell from the young girl’s hand, but 
for many minutes she neither moved her position, 
nor uttered a word in her sudden sorrow, almost 
too sudden and too great to be realized, but tears 
came at length to her relief. 

“ Grandmamma ! grandmamma !” she exclaimed, 
passionately; “my only friend! I have nobody 
left me now !” but, as she spoke, her eyes fell on 
the meek white face above the altar, and the hand 
presenting the little Child to the sorrowing world, 
and she felt that the words uttered in her first great 
grief were false. 

The intelligence contained in Mrs. Gordon’s 
letter to her young friend, was only too true. 
Old Mrs. Howard had passed suddenly away 
the previous Sunday on returning from church, 
so suddenly that she could not even leave one 
parting word for the child she loved so well. 
Nor was this trouble, heavy as it was, the only 
one our little heroine now found herself called 
upon to endure. For a long time Mrs. Gordon’s 
letters had spoken of her declining health, and 
Mrs. Howard’s death had occurred just as she 
was on the point of sailing with her family for 
the Bermudas. It was a hard trial for the widow 
to leave the home of her married life, but her 
physicians told her that it was the only chance 
of saving a life so precious to her little one, and 
she left without a murmur. 

“Would that I could stay to comfort you, my 
darling,” she wrote to Marion ; “ but the London 
fog, rising as I write, warns me that I have already 


Trials and Triumphs . 395 

lingered too long. I have every hope that the 
gentle climate, to which I am hastening, will reno- 
vate my health, and that in a year or two we may 
meet again. Meanwhile, with many prayers, I can 
only commend you to God, and your kind friends 
at Harleyford. Over and above the business of 
our removal, a most important subject has been 
occupying my attention for some time past; in my 
next letter I hope to be able to tell you more of 
th is, but at present, I must say farewell.” 

Marion walked to her little room, where she 
remained all the evening, the laughter from the 
lingerie below, jarring painfully upon her over- 
wrought nerves. She wrote to Father Stirling, 
telling him of her bereavement, wrote to him in 
that strain of wavering hope, that the Catholic 
must employ, who sees beloved ones pass away in 
error, but in good faith. So engrossed was Marion 
in the one idea of her grandmother’s sudden death, 
that it was not till she lay sleeplessly tossing on 
her little bed, that the concluding paragraph of 
Mrs. Gordon’s letter stole into her mind, and 
she began to wonder what her subject of con- 
sideration could be. “ I wonder if she is contem- 

« 

plating a second marriage,” thought Marion. “ I 
hope not, but I do not see anything else that she 
would not have spoken of outri ght.” 

Hardly a week after the receipt of Mrs. Gordon’s 
letter, Madame Le Brun summoned Marion to 
her private room, and informed her that having 
lost several pupils unexpectedly, she desired that 
the next month should bring their engagement 


396 Marion Howard ; or , 

to a close. Marion bowed and walked calmly 
from the majestic presence, but in her own little 
room the brave heart at last gave way. All that 
she had borne there availed nothing, for she was 
even now but an indifferent French scholar. How 
could she return to England? What could she 
do, still so unqualified as a governess ? Looking 
steadily forward to this end, she had worked inces- 
santly at her French, and had associated with 
those from whose society she shrunk, and now, 
must the work remain unfinished? 

Suddenly Marion remembered an Englishwoman 
who had called on Madame Le Brun, and to whom 
that lady had introduced her as a compatriot. 
Miss Tubbier had informed her that she contem- 
plated resigning her lessons in the autumn, and 
should be glad to dispose of her pupils. To her, 
therefore, our little heroine now applied, though 
with sundry misgivings, for Miss Tubbier ’s appear- 
ance was by no means prepossessing. 

It would be a long, dry story to tell of Miss 
Tubbler’s promises and their shortcomings; of 
the handsome salary in perspective, which degene- 
rated into little more than the quarter of the sum, 
out of which Marion had to pay Madame good 
terms for remaining “ pensiomiaire libred Nor will 
we tell of the lessons in miserable pensionnats , nor 
of children from whom Golden-hair fairlv shrunk, 
all used as she was to the pupils of Madame Le 
Brun. Nor was this all we leave undescribed, for 
we could also tell of harassing journeys to give 
these lessons, which were scattered over the len gth 


397 


Trials and Triumphs . 

and breadth of Paris, from Belleville to Montrouge, 
from Vincennes to Vaugirard ; of the bitter morn- 
ings when the snow lay thick, and Marion had to 
rise and trim her lamp in the still heavy darkness, 
and then, half breakfasting, to find her way 
through fog or frost to the first omnibus and its 
crowded freight; of the teaching all day after her 
flimsy morning meal, and the return in the even- 
ing, often wet, faint, and sick at heart, to the half- 
cold dinner in the refectory, amongst the uncleared 
plates and dishes of eighty pupils. And for this 
Miss Tubbier asked the fourth part of the first 
years’ earnings ; and so Marion plodded on by day, 
and lay awake at night, wondering whether, with 
all her slavery, she was making enough to pay 
both Miss Tubbier and Madame Le Brun. The 
lessons dropped away by degrees, and the items 
fell below the mark. What should she do ? The 
thought of debt, with Madame Le Brun’s frigid 
politeness before her, and Miss Tubbler’s dragon 
eyes, was something fearful. Summoning courage, 
she wrote to Miss Tubbier, telling her how the les- 
sons had fallen off from their original value, and 
begging a little grace. “Pay me what thou owest,” 
was the reply, mingled with reflections so imperti- 
nent that Golden-hair’s spirit was roused, and she 
sent her the hard-earned francs, with a letter 
worthy of a Caractacus. 

Should she now speak to Madame Le Brun, 
asking her in her turn to wait, or write to her 
mother ? She resolved to try the latter, and com- 
menced, but her courage failed her. 

34 


398 Marion Howard ; or> 

“ What will be the end of it ?” cried the poor 
child. “Shall I write to Mrs. Darrell?” 

“ No,” said pride ; and Marion thought no more 
of that. 

“To Father Stirling?” 

“ His spare money must be for charity,” said 
principle, and she shook her head. 

“ Lie down and die !” said passion ; and, in a 
paroxysm, Marion tore Miss Tubbler’s last letter 
to pieces. 

Again it was the day before Christmas eve, and 
Marion was looking out into the dirty street from 
the window of her bed-room. She had just come 
in from a long wet tumbling ride across the rough 
pavements of Paris, and her w r et boots and mud- 
stained dress were lying beside her. She had not 
yet spoken to Madame Le Brun, or written to 
England ; her lessons were even fewer, and her 
employers more exacting than ever. Instead of 
going down to her dinner, she stood still in the 
half-dark room, thinking of Ennington and Harley- 
ford, and of that very day twelve months ago, 
when she received her mother’s last kiss, before 
that happy ride with Joe to the Cedars. All were 
remembered, and Marion w T ondered w T hat she would 
not give, except her religion, to be folded in that 
mother’s arms again. And then she looked sadly 
forward to the Christmas day, amongst the unruly 
few who were to be left behind, and thought of 
dear old England, with its John Bull Christmas, 
its holly and mistletoe, roast beef and plum- 
pudding. Of the joyous gathering of friends, 


399 


Trials and Triumphs. 



the songs, the dances, and romp of little children, 
for, childlike in her simplicity, Golden-hair clung 
to these simple pleasures still. She loved Christ- 
mas — loved it for God’s sake, for home’s sake, 
for England’s sake. And as the glowing fire and 
beaming taper only make the winter night more 
dreary to the traveller without, so those memories 
of the past made the present more desolate still 
and little Marion thought of England till her life 
seemed too hard to be endured. 

“On vons demande , Md anisette!” said a voice at 
the door. 

“Who? I?” cried Marion, starting; “a visitor 
for me ? Impossible ! There must be some mis- 
take.” But she was very quick, nevertheless, in 
arranging her dress, and having washed her face 
to hide the traces of her tears, she descended to 
the grand salle. 

A small flickering lamp was burning on the 
centre-table, but it yielded sufficient light to enable 
Marion to see that her visitor was a gentleman, 
and a stranger. He was apparently a military 
man, about thirty years of age, intelligent and 
thoughtful looking, though, perhaps, hardly to 
be called handsome. He advanced to meet her 
as she entered, but still more assured than ever 
that there was a mistake, Marion drew back. 

“Miss Howard?” asked the stranger, inquir- 
ingly, and she felt that he was scrutinizing her in 
the uncertain light. 

Marion bowed in great astonishment. Who 
could he be? What could he want with her? 


400 


Marion Howard; or y 


The stranger advanced and took her hand, look- 
ing very strangely into her eyes. Marion tried to 
withdraw herself, but in vain, for an arm was 
already around her waist. 

“ Golden-hair,” said the stranger, softly, “are 
you afraid of Edward ?” 

In another moment she had fainted at his feet. 
“Water! water!” he cried, opening the door. 
Several of the scholars, with Madame Le Brun, 
ran quickly at the unexpected summons. The 
latter looked very blank at finding her petite 
Anglaise in the arms of the imposing-looking 
stranger, for he had raised her from the floor, 
and, unconscious of spectators, w r as kissing her 
forehead as he endeavored to restore her. 

“ Comment, Monsieur!” began Madame. 
Alarmed, as he was, by Marion’s fainting fit, 
Edward awoke to the necessity of an explanation. 
“ I am her brother,” he said in cool, calm English, 
“ and have come to take her home.” 

“Son frere /” said Madame, much surprised, for 
she had no idea that Marion had so near a relation. 
Madame Le Brun took another glance at the gen- 
tleman, read that in his eye that she did not 
care to question, and bowed very graciously. Be- 
fore many minutes Marion was once more con- 
scious, and Madame Le Brun having departed 
with her pupils, she found herself in a large arm- 
chair, and Edward, real, genuine brother Edward, 
face to face. She looked at his dark piercing 
eye, his complexion olive from exposure to Indian 
suns, his strong frame that had never succumbed 


401 


Trials and Triumphs . 



even to that dreadful climate, and read in the 
frank look and honest glance, the pure soul that 
had expanded uncontaminated, even in that land 
of luxury and ease. Edward Howard was a grand 
realization of Golden-hair’s fairest dreams. As he 
called her “little sister,” and told her he had 
come to take her back to England, and to be 
with him always if she liked, for an instant the 
pain of the last few weary months seemed already 
only an ugly dream. But then came the thou giit 
of the disclosure that must be made, and Marion 
thought of her mother and Henry Lisle, and shook 
like an aspen. 

“ In ten minutes he too perhaps will have left 
me ! Can I bear this ?” 

Edward was talking very fast of the difficulty he 
had had to find the school, but Marion heard very 
little of what he said ; she was thinking of the 
sweet cup about to be dashed from her lips, almost 
untasted. Should she tell him now ? Yes, it would 
be easier, while they were strange. 

She felt faint again with the first effort to speak, 
but placing her hand upon her heart to still its 
beating, she rose from her chair. 

“ Edward,” she said, “ you have found Golden- 
hair, but you do not know her yet. Listen, I 
have done that that has made mamma, and almost 
every one give me up, and when I tell you what it 
is, you will perhaps leave me too.” 

To her surprise, he remained perfectly calm and 
quiet. 

“ I would have written and told you, but my life 

34 * 


402 


Marion Floward . 


has been so very sad lately, that a letter would 
have been nothing but grief; so I waited. Edward, 
I am a Catholic !” 

“And I am a Christian,” cried her brother, 
almost fiercely folding her in his arms. “Golden- 
hair, you tell me nothing new, so run and pack up 
your things, for I shall bring a carriage around 
for you in half an hour. We shall stop in Paris 
till after the lour de Van with some friends of 
mine from Calcutta, who are living in the Rue 
de Grenelle. After that, we shall start for London, 
where we will set up housekeeping together. Poor 
dear grandmother! I just arrived in London in 
time to save the few little things she had left 
us ; for you and I, Golden-hair, are her only heirs. 
What a sweet, pretty little sister you are !” 




CHAPTER XXI. 


k 

k 


L / 

rv 


(IP D WARD HOWARD had been born in Eng- 
land, but from infancy India had been his 
yy home. His earliest associations were con- 
^ nected with the luxuriant vegetation of its 
tropical climate, and his first remembrance was its 
ayah. His mother and an unmarried sister had 
accompanied her husband to India, the former 
only to die there, but the latter married soon after 
her arrival, and having no children, adopted her 
nephew as her own. Under her fostering care, the 
little Edward grew to man’s estate, and when the 
news of the fatal calamity that had befallen Captain 
Howard was brought to her, it seemed that he was 
more solemnly than ever entrusted to her protec- 
tion. When old enough to decide on a profession, 
he selected that of arms, and joined the regiment 
in which his father had held the rank of captain. 
Here he soon won the esteem of all, and few offi- 
cers were more noted for true chivalrous spirit 
than Edward Howard. “ Whatever I may be, I 
owe it all to you,” he would exclaim, embracing 
his aunt. “ What would the orphan boy have 
been, with his stubborn spirit and fierce passions, 
if you had not tamed him ?” And he spoke truly, 
for it was her teaching only that had changed his 

403 


404 


M avion Howard ; or } 

stubbornness into firmness and determination, and 
converted the impetuosity of youth into earnest- 
ness and zeal in the cause of truth and honor. 
Many times had the young man been tried in the 
furnace of temptation, but he had passed through 
his ordeal, and came forth unscathed. And yet he 
had had his tribulations — one heavier than the 
rest, in the death of his mother-aunt, and soon after 
that in that of her husband also. All they had 
was left to the child of their adoption, who, now 
that he had no longer any ties to bind him to 
India, began to glance towards the land of his 
birth. Having, therefore, “sold out,” with a mod- 
erate fortune Edward started for England, to seek 
the little bright-haired sister, whose letters had 
always won his heart. 

It was towards the end of October when Edward 
landed in England. Late one drizzling afternoon, 
just as the street lamps were beginning to glim- 
mer through the mist, he arrived at the door of 
Mrs. Howard’s house in Islington, with two cabs 
crammed inside, and piled high on the roof, with 
all kinds of heterogenous luggage. A bill in the 
window — “To be let,” — startled him at first, but 
finding it still inhabited, he drew breath more 
freely, and leaping from the vehicle the instant it 
stopped, rapped smartly at the door. After the 
summons had been repeated twice, a woman’s head 
appeared in the area, and then as rapidly vanished 
from his sight. In a few minutes a youngster, 
bearing evident marks of “ dirt pies” and bread- 
and-treacle, opened the door. 


Trials and Triumphs . 


405 


“ Does Mrs. Howard live here?” asked Edward, 
who began to think he must have mistaken the 
address. 

A finger thrust in the mouth was the only 
response. 

Edward repeated the question, but the finger 
remained immovable. Out of all patience, he 
rapped angrily with his stick, and the result was 
the appearance of the dirty woman, whose head he 
had already seen, and who now came from the 
regions below, wiping the soapsuds from her arms 
with her wet check apron. 

“Go to the baby, Johnny, you young worrit! 
one ’ud think you hadn’t got a tongue in your 
head,” and bestowing a hearty box on his ears, that 
young gentleman disappeared in his turn, scrub- 
bing his eyes with his coat sleeves. 

“ Does Mrs. Howard live here ?” once more 
asked Edward. 

“ She did live here, sir, but she’s dead and 
buried this month.” 

“ Dead and buried !” repeated Edward, in a half- 
stupefied voice. 

“Yes, sir, I’m in keeping the house. There’s 
going to be a sale, I think, though I don’t know. 
It was Mr. Twidgett, the lawyer, as put me in. 
Would you like to see the house, sir?” 

“No, thank you,” replied Edward; “can you give 
me this gentleman’s address ?” 

“Yes, sir, there’s an old henvelope in the parlor; 
if you’ll be so good as to wait a bit, I’ll get a 
candle and get it.” 


406 


Marion Howard ; or, 



“Camberwell,” said Edward, reading it; “is that 
far from here ?” 

“ Indeed it is, sir, just the other hend o’ London.” 

Thanking her for her information, Edward re- 
turned to his cab, and ordered the man to drive 
to the nearest hotel; when his baggage was stowed 
away for the night, and he found himself seated to 
a solitary meal, he gave way to his disappoint- 
ment. 

And was this his welcome to England ? — death 
and desolation ? The dinner went away almost 
untasted, and an hour later Edward was on his 
road to Camberwell. 

It was late when he returned, a heavy gloom 
was on his countenance. He looked gravely dis- 
pleased, but he rang the bell and ordered tea. 

“The rascal!” he exclaimed, as he stirred his 
tea, “ a day or two more, and I should have been 
late ! Poor old soul, her little things would have 
gone to feather his nest!” He sat in deep thou ght 
for nearly an hour, but his brow grew more placid, 
as he grew warmer, for the London fog had chilled 
him through and through in spite of his wrappers. 
“ Perhaps he has a large family,” ruminated Edward, 
as the waiter having cleared away the tea-things, 
he prepared his cigar ; “ poor fellow, he did not 
seem overburdened with this world’s gear. But 
‘ honesty is the best policy’ after all, my friend.” 

“ Forgive us our trespasses, as we” — the soldier 
paused that night in his evening prayer. But not 
for long, the victory was soon won, and Mr. Twid- 
gett forgiven. “ I must see about Marion to- 


407 


Trials and Triumphs . 

morrow,” was his last thought as he fell asleep, 
“my little Golden-hair!” 

It was a deep autumnal evening, as Edward 
and his portmanteau was landed by the stage coach 
at Ennington; but this time the fog rose clear and 
white from meadow and mill stream, undimmed 
by the smoke of a half million fires. He walked 
briskly down the little street, “ observed of all 
observers,” for a stranger in Ennington was too 
rare an occurrence to be suffered to pass un- 
heeded. But had a very legion turned out to 
scrutinize him, they would have stared unnoticed 
by the object of their curiosity, so thoroughly was 
he absorbed in the thought of the anticipated 
meeting. 

“Which is Mrs. Howard’s house?” he asked 
of a little girl he met, who was hugging a loaf 
almost as big as herself. The child, whose mouth 
was full of hot bread, nodded to the white house. 

Edward walked up the little garden, usually 
so neat, but now half buried in dead leaves, while 
china-asters, Michaelmas daisies, and chrysanthe- 
mums straggled over the wet paths, beaten down 
by the rain. The house, too, looked cheerless and 
uncomfortable, with its soiled blinds and ill-ar- 
ranged window curtains. He could not have said 
why, but half the pleasure of his excitement had 
vanished by the time he reached the door. A 
gray cat sprang away through the bushes as he 
knocked, and glared at him angrily; one could 
hardly have recognized in it the sleek-looking 
Tyrza of other days. 


408 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“ Is Mrs. Howard at home?” he asked of an 
awkward-looking girl who opened the door. 

“ Mrs. who ?” asked the girl, roughly. 

“ Mrs. Howard.” 

“ Never heerd on her, so I dunnow. I only 
came from t’other side of the country last week.” 

“Who is that, Lydia?” screamed a shrill voice 
over the balusters. 

“ Dunnow, miss. He says he wants a Mrs. 
Somebody.” 

The speaker descended ; a venerable spinster, to 
judge by her appearance, which was more acid 
even than her voice. 

“ I fear there is some mistake,” said Edward, 
saluting her politely, “but I was informed that 
Mrs. Howard lived here.” 

“So she did,” replied the lady, shortly, “but 
she has gone to live somewhere else, and I have 
taken the house furnished for twelve months.” 

“ Excuse me,” said Edward, whose countenance 
was below zero, “ but could you not give me her 
address ?” 

“No. I have lost it, and forget what it was — 
somewhere in Clifton, I think. But she has be- 
haved so unhandsomely to me, that the less I 
hear about her the better till I am obliged, so 
I don’t care. Good evening to you,” and the 
door closed heavily. 

This time, there was not even the London 
hotel to turn to, and poor Edward stood at the 
garden gate, speculating as to his next course 
of action. At this moment, our old friend, Dr. 


4og 


Trials and Triumphs . 

Stebbing, appeared in view, and Edward imme- 
diately crossed the road. 

“ Excuse me, sir, but do I speak to the clergy- 
man of the parish?” 

“You do, sir?” replied the rector, taking off his 
hat, with old-fashioned politeness. 

“ Then I hope you will be able to assist me in 
my unfortunate position,” replied Edward. “ My 
name is Howard; I have just arrived from Cal- 
cutta, and my welcome is a very sad one. Of my 
three only relatives, one is dead, and my mother 
and sister, whom I expected to find in that very 
house, are gone, I know not whither.” 

“For the first trouble, I can, of course, only 
offer you my sympathy, Mr. Howard,” replied 
the rector, extending his hand ; “ with regard to 
Mrs. and Miss Howard, I can, I am happy to 
say, assist you. But first, let me in their name, 
bid you welcome to England, for they are old 
friends of mine : I am too old-fashioned to stand 
upon ceremony, but I shall be glad to see you 
home to dinner with me. It is just about ready, 
and though you must take us as we are, I thin 1 *" 

you will perhaps stand a better chance in risking 

* 

your bill of fare with me, than with mine host 
at the inn. I will tell you the whole story. It 
is a fortunate thing that you chanced to light 
upon me, as I dare say, I know more about Mrs. 
Howard’s movements, just now, than any one.” 
Edward needed no second invitation, but ac- 
cepted the first as heartily as it had been given, 
and they were soon on their road to the parsonage. 


4io 


Marion Howard; or, 


It was a short walk, but it was the commencement 
of a long friendship. 

“We will not enter into the subject, I think, 
till after dinner,” observed the rector, as he led 
the way into his sanctum, a very learned looking 
apartment. 

“Certainly not,” said Edward; “you have a 
splendid library.” 

The old gentleman looked much gratified, and 
finding his visitor a kindred spirit in his book- 
worm propensities, it was not long before a dozen 
curiosities of literature strewed the table. 

“ See, here comes my wife,” exclaimed the 
doctor, breaking off in the middle of a dissertation 
upon a new edition of certain Greek tragedies ; 
“ I must introduce you.” He did so, describing 
how he had met his new friend, alone and dis- 
consolate, before his mother’s door. 

“You did not get much of a reception there, I 
will warrant,” said the doctor, laughing. “ Miss 
Smith and her mother are, to say the least, very 
peculiar. They live like recluses, and generally 
contrive to get a maid as formidable as themselves. 
Unhandsome indeed ! I happen to know all about 
that piece of business, and were it not that Mrs. 
Howard is too high to enter the lists, I would soon 
force them to their first agreement. They are pay- 
ing her about two-thirds of the terms arranged.” 

“ And everything is getting ruined for want of 
cleaning,” said Mrs. Stebbing. 

“ O, a little soap and water will soon set all that 
to rights, my dear; and now, perhaps, that Major 


Trials and Triumphs . 41 1 

Howard has come, the other affair may be set 
straight also.” 

“That is not the only family business that 
requires righting,” observed Edward ; and he de- 
scribed the manner in which his grandmother’s 
property had been left in the hands of her attorney. 
“She left few things of value,” he continued, “ but 
a great deal too much to throw away. The whole 
affair is a mystery to me, from beginning to 
end.” 

“ When you have had your dinner, I shall be 
able, I have no doubt, to help to clear it; so come, 
for I hear it is ready. You are naturally curious, 
but Harpocrates himself was not more discreet 
than I shall be, till you have well dined, and 
fortified yourself with a glass or two of my old 
port. I do not know how our edibles stand 
to-day, especially for one accustomed to Indian 
luxuries ; but be they as they may, you have a 
hearty welcome, and as we used to learn at school, 
Tames optimus coquus estl ” 

According, however, to the doctor’s idea of a 
good dinner, Edward did but little honor to the 
meal. TIis single glass of wine especially out- 
raged his worthy host, but he pressed him to 
another in vain. 

“ It is a custom I acquired in India,” said 
Edward, “ where a man, to be anything, must be 
very temperate.” 

“To be sure, my dear sir,” returned the doctor, 
“ there is nothing like moderation, but there is 
such a thing as the opposite extreme. A man 


Marion Howard ; or } 


41 2 

with such a frame as yours, requires more than 
one glass of wine to keep up his stamina.” 

“ It has been kept up on less than that in India,” 
replied Edward, smiling, “ for I drank very little 
besides water there.” 

As soon as Mrs. Stebbing had left them, the 
doctor began. 

:t You have been looking so anxious, my dear 
young friend, for the last half hour, that I can see 
the sooner I commence my tale the better. Really, 
however, I hardly know where to begin, for it is a 
long story, and in some things a sad one.” 

Edward started, and the dark complexion grew 
so pale, that the doctor wasted no more words 
before satisfying his anxiety. He told him all. 
Of Marion’s visit to the Cedars, her conversion, 
and of her mother’s stern determination on hearing 
of the step her child had taken. He told him 
also, partly from surmise, and partly from words 
dropped by Mrs. Howard, of the unfortunate 
termination of Mr. Lisle’s wooing. He told him 
all he either knew or guessed, and this was more 
than sufficient to prove to Edward the lonely situa- 
tion of his only sister. “ I have often tried to 
reason with Mrs. Howard,” said the doctor, in 
conclusion, whose honest eyes bore testimony to 
his sympathy, “ but she is inexorable. To me, 
there is something fearful in casting off a young 
girl into such a world as this, simply because she 
embraced an error. This is surely no way to 
dispel the infatuation.” 

“ Cruel ! Abominable ! Most unnatural !” broke 


Trials and Triumphs . 413 

in Edward, with an energy that startled his 
host. “ Can you tell me where she is now ?” 
he asked. 

“I do not know; but I can give you Mrs. 
Howard’s address, and you can write to her.” 

“ I would rather do anything else — poor dear 
child, I will try and find her without a word from 
her mother, if I can. What a fortunate thing she 
has left this village, for how I could have met 
her face to face, I cannot imagine. I know my 
fiery temper well, and should, I am certain, have 
said to her what I might have repented afterward ; 
for, let her behave as she may, we must remem- 
ber she is Marion’s mother, and was my father’s 
wife.” 

There was silence for a few moments, broken at 
last by the doctor. 

“ The last time I heard of Miss Howard, she 
was staying with her grandmother in Islington. 
She wrote to me herself from there.” 

“ And may be with that grandmother in her 
grave, for aught we know,” cried Edward, passion- 
ately. “Forgive me,” he added, “but sorry as 
you are for me, you cannot tell what I feel. The 
four weary months that I have been upon the sea 
have been short, in the one bright thought of 
knowing and seeing Marion. The idea of a simple- 
hearted English sister, to one whose only experi- 
ence of women has been the sickly enervated 
girls of India, or the adventuresses from other 
lands (who go out to seek their fortunes with 
ready-made bridal dresses in their trunks) has 


414 Mari 07 i Howard; or, 

been something more than a bright dream. And 
now — it is dreadful !” 

“ Nonsense, my dear boy ! Cheer up, you have 
only to look for her; let us hope she is all 
right somewhere, though it will be, of course, 
a grief to you to have her a Catholic.” 

“ O, let her be whatever she likes ! I shall not 
complain if I ever find her.” 

“ There is one thing I can do,” said the doctor, 
brightening up ; “I can get you the address of 
her Catholic friends, who undoubtedly know where 
she is.” 

“ If you only could, my dear sir,” cried Ed- 
ward, warmly, “ what thanks should I not owe 
you ?” 

“ I will go this moment,” said the rector, jump- 
ing up from his chair; “ there is an old cobbler 
here who goes over to Harleyford to church every 
week, he will be sure to know it. I shall be back 
in no time. Keep up your spirits, and go to Mrs. 
Stebbing in the drawing-room. She was a great 
friend of your little sister, and will tell you many 
things about her.” 

The doctor went, got the address, and, as good 
as his word, was back in no time. Despite his 
agitation, Edward spent a pleasant evening with his 
kind entertainers, who insisted on his staying all 
night; but notwithstanding the softness of Mrs. 
Stebbing’s spare bed, and the soporific influence of 
the “ night-cap” that the doctor forced upon him, 
not for an instant did their visitor close his eyes, 
or lose the consciousness of his trouble. It was 


4 1 5 


Trials and Triumphs . 

not that he did not hope eventually to find Marion, 
but the thought of what she had suffered, and 
must be suffering still, was most painful. Then 
there was his bitter disappointment in finding every- 
thing so different to what he had anticipated, and 
— let him say what he would — if there was one 
thing on earth he hated more than another, it was 
the Catholic Religion. “ But I will win her back 
by kindness,” said Edward, turning over to the 
other side, under the delusion that he might go to 
sleep. 

He rose the next morning so haggard and fever- 

o o o 

ish, that the doctor begged him to postpone his 
visit to the Cedars till the following day. Edward 
was, however, fixed in his determination to lose no 
time in gleaning tidings of his sister. 

“ But I feel ill, nevertheless,” he added. “ I have 
caught a severe cold, and fatigue, excitement, and 
change of climate, are doing their work. I shall 
perhaps be worse to-morrow, therefore I must 
work while I can.” So saying, he took an almost 
affectionate leave of the doctor and his little wife, 
and walked towards the inn, at which he had 
already engaged a post-chaise to take him to Har- 
leyford. 

It was the first bright day that Edward Howard 
had seen since his arrival in England. Though 
very few leaves lingered on the trees, and those 
were brown and withered, and the scene altogether, 
notwithstanding the yellow sunshine, looked damp 
and autumnal, there was still sufficient beauty lurk- 
ing in the country through which he drove, to raise 


Marion Howard ; or y 


416 

his drooping spirits. Still, as he remembered all 
he had anticipated in his little sister, and the pretty 
home she had so often described, that he had 
learned it almost by heart, and contrasted these 
pictures with the sad reality of the death of his 
grandmother, the tyrannical parent, the forsaken 
home and wandering Golden-hair, he felt that 
though his sadness might pass away a little, it 
would take something more than a gleam of sun- 
shine to bring anything like real joy into his heart. 
As the wheels crushed the dead leaves, thickly 
strewn in the narrow lanes, he could not help com- 
paring them with his own bright anticipations. “ I 
am glad it is October,” he exclaimed ; “ I could 
not have endured flowers and waving trees, they 
would have seemed to mock me.” 

After a ride of two hours, the post-boy stopped 
at the lodge gates, and, in answer to his summons, 
Turner quickly appeared, smoothing her apron, 
and shading her eyes from the sun. There was 
something so picturesque in the unstudied attitude 
of the old woman, that Edward could not but look 
at her with interest, agitated and excited though 
he was. 

“Does Mr. Darrell live here?” 

“He do, sir; but he and missus, and the young 
ladies are all away from home.” 

“ Good heavens !” cried poor Edward, “what shall 
T do?” 

Turner shifted her position to get the sun out of 
her eyes, and looked at him; but Edward did not 
notice the scrutiny, as he leaned forward in the 


4 1 7 


Trials and Triumphs. 

chaise, pondering within himself what he should 
do next. A sudden prance of the horses, followed 
by a sturdy “Whoa!” recalled him to himself. 

“ When do you expect them home ?” he asked. 
“ Every day, sir; for they have been gone near 
upon a month, leastways all except the master ; 
but they may stay a good bit longer for all that I 
know yet. It all depends on Miss Edith, sir; for 
it’s only for her health that they are gone at all. 
She’s weakly, rather, poor dear, that she be. You 
will leave a message for them, sir? I’ll be sure to 
remember to give it them when they come back.” 
“ Why, no,” said Edward ; “ that would be of no 
use. It is the address of a friend of theirs that I 
want.” 

“ I see,” said Turner; “ well now, sir, I am a 
thinking that p’raps they know it up at the house. 
If you’ll give yourself the trouble to write it down 
on a bit o’ paper, I’ll step up in a minute and ask 
Betsy, for she has lived so long in the family, that 
I believe she knows all about their friends every 
bit as well as they do theirselves.” 

‘‘Do you think so?” said Edward, taking out 
his pocket-book with great alacrity. “ Well, it is 

4 

a Miss Howard, who was staying here some time 
ago, that I want to find out.” 

“Miss Howard!” cried the old woman, falling 1 
back. “What! Miss Marion, my own darling child ! 
Is it her as you want? O, deary, deary me, but 
you’ll have to look far enough for her. Laws, sir! 
she be miles and miles away from here, my own 
precious child!” And old Turner sobbed heavily. 


4i 3 


Marion Howard ; or , 


‘‘What! do you know her then ?” cried Edward, 
who could have hugged the old woman with all 
his heart. 

“Do I know her!” echoed Turner, half indig- 
nant at the question. “Wasn’t I the first as ever 
nursed her in this blessed world ? Wasn’t it me 
as taught her to walk, and say her own mother’s 
name?” 

“ Well, I am her brother,” said Edward, bluntly. 

“Her brother!” exclaimed Turner. “Air. Ed- 
ward ! my poor master’s son ! To think of that, 
now ! O, deary, deary me, what queer things 
does come to pass. O, Mr. Edward, but it does 
my old heart good to see you, that it does, for now 
I look at you, I can see my poor old master once 
again. Ah, sir ! but it was a weary day for many 
hearts when he got drowned.” 

“That it was,” said Edward, with a sigh. 

“And then you see, sir, it was double bad for 
me, because my poor man was lost at the same 
time.* 

“ Then you are the widow of that old faithful 
Turner, that my father used to mention in his* 
letters, and who was coming out with him to 
bring me.” 

“To be sure I am, sir; after he came to live 
with the master, I came to be Miss Marion’s nurse.” 

And here followed the history of their life with 
Captain Howard, and hers with his widow, the 
whole so interlaced with eulogiums on her pet 
and nursling that Edward’s heart beat still more 
warmly than ever for his little Golden-hair. 


Trials and Triumphs . 419 

“ And a dear faithful old soul you have been, I 
know,” said Edward, holding out his hand, which 
Turner kissed most devotedly, to the amusement 
of the post-boy, who walked around the horses' 
heads to hide a very broad grin. 

“ Mr. Edward ! Mr. Edward ! only to think of 
you’re being here!” she cried again and again. 

“ Well now,” said Edward, “ can you get me the 
address ? But perhaps you know it.” 

“ No I don’t, sir,” replied the old woman, shak- 
ing her head slowly ; “ them gimcrack foreign 

names never would stick in my head, and if they 
did, it wouldn’t be of no use, for I couldn’t fc get 
them out.” 

“Foreign names!” cried Edward; “you do not 
mean to say that she is abroad ?” 

“That she is,” answered Turner, sorrowfully; 
“ all across the sea, where they speaks no English, 
and is all black, I believe, and pagans, too, I dare 
say.” 

“ Black and pagans ! Why, that misguided child 
can never have gone to Africa !” 

“No, sir, that’s not the name; it’s Paris, I’m 
thinking.” 

“ But they are not black there,” cried Edward ; 
“ though I am not so sure about the paganism,” he 
added, bitterly. 

“Ar’n’t they, sir? Well, I didn’t know. But 
Mr. Edward, it seems all one and the same thing to 
me, whether they are black or white, so long as 
she’s in a forrin country. I only know I couldn’t 
walk to her now, nor get a lift in a cart, even if she 


420 


Marion Howard; or , 


was dying, and the thought of her breaks my heart 
O, Mr. Edward, sir, but it do seem to me real cruel 
that her mother should cast her off like an old 
shoe.” 

“ I think you and I had better say nothing about 
her, Turner.” 

“ So we had, sir, much better ; besides, I promised 
Miss Marion I wouldn’t; but for all that my blood 
boils above a bit, when I hear the wind at night, 
and think of her all snug and comfortable like in 
her bed, not knowing where her own flesh and 
blood is.” 

“Come, come,” said Edward, smiling; “you are 
breaking your promise, even now.” 

“Ami? then the Lord forgive me, and her 
too.” 

“ Now,” said Edward, “ will you please get me 
the address ?” 

This time Turner fairly started, and in the inte- 
rim Edward, alighting from the chaise, paced back- 
wards and forwards before the gate. 

* “ Have you been able to get it ?” he asked, as 
Turner reappeared. 

“ No, sir, that I haven’t; nobody here knows it 
at all ; but Betsy says she has no doubt Father 
Stirling could give it to you.” 

“ Father Stirling ! Who on earth is he ?” asked 
Edward, knitting his brow. 

Turner hesitated. “ He is the priest, sir, and 
has had a great deal to do with Miss Marion,” 
replied Turner, “ for it was him as baptized her, 
as they call it.” 


421 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“Was it?” said Edward, stamping his foot; 
“ then if I cannot get the address except from him, 
I will do without it. Sneaking villain !” 

“0, Mr. Edward, sir, but indeed he is a real 
gentleman. Now, please don’t take on so, because 
you see it can’t do no good. I tell you what,” 
added the old woman, soothingly, “ go up and wait 
at the house, and I’ll run down to the Father 
myself and ask him. I’ll be bound he knows.” 
“The Father!” cried Edward, sneeringly ; “one 
would think you were a papist too, old wo- 
man !” 

“No, no, Mr. Edward, I’m not a papisher, really!” 
exclaimed Turner, alarmed for her orthodoxy; 
“but my Liza is, and that’s how I come to know 
him ; and somehow, one gets into the way of 
speaking like other folks does. Besides, he has 
been real kind to my Liza and the dear boys. 
Now, go up to the house, there’s a dear good 
young gentleman, and just wait in the drawing- 
room, and I’ll run up to him, and be back in no 
time ; Bennie there will mind the gate. He don’t 
live far off, and you’ll see how quick I’ll be.” 

“ No,” said Edward, after a pause ; “ I will not 
trouble you. I have altered my mind. I will go 
myself, and just tell him what I think of him and 
his rascally proceedings. A girl of eighteen to be 
duped into separation from her own mother! That 
mother may have been harsh in her judgment, I 
know,” he added, half speaking to himself, “ but 
that makes no difference in his crime. 4 Leading 

captive silly women/ Ah, how truly St. Paul 
36 


422 


Marion Howard; or } 


spoke the words of inspiration there ! But we 
shall see. I shall be much astonished, sir priest, 
if I do not surprise you a little before I have done 
with you. Well, good-by, old woman !” he ex- 
claimed, turning suddenly to Turner, who stood 
by, looking anxiously at him. “ I am very glad to 
have found you, for you have been a very ray of 
brightness to me in my trouble. I shall run in 
and see you again, if I can, though as yet I hardly 
know what my plans may be. If my sister is in 
France, as you seem to think, I may go over there 
at once, and never visit this part of the country 
again. But Edward Howard will never forget 
Marion's old nurse, come what may.” 

He held out his hand as he spoke, and, after a 
warm, affectionate grasp, two shining sovereigns 
glittered on the old woman’s palm. 

“Mr. Edward, sir, Mr. Edward, please don’t!” 
cried Turner, holding out her hand. 

“Hush! just for a remembrance, you know,” 
cried Edward. “ Perhaps I shall never see you 
again.” 

“ Yes, but you will though ; I know you will. I 
shall live to have you come to see me yet, with my 
own sweet darling hanging on your arm. The 
Lord Almighty bless you, and may you see her 
very, very soon.” 

Without waiting to see the carriage move off, 
Turner rushed into the house, and seizing up 
Bennie, began crying over him as if her old heart 
would break. 

“What’s the matter, granny?” asked that young 


423 


Trials a7id Triumphs . 

gentleman, rather surprised at this sudden burst of 
affection. 

“O, but he’s the image of his father, that he be!’* 
cried Turner, kissing the sovereigns, while Bennie 
looked as if he did not quite understand this 
answer to his question. 

When Eliza came home that night, and the boys 
were in bed, she heard a story that made her open 
her eyes. 

“ But even now, mother,” said Eliza, at the end 
of the recital, “ I can’t tell whether he is angry 
with Miss Marion or not.” 

“ Well,” said the old woman, “the fact is, child, 
I don’t think he knows hisself. Tie's angry with 
her mother about a bit, I can see, although he is 
too gentleman-like to say so to the likes of me. 
He’s furious agin the Father, but he has got the 
poor dear old captain’s own heart, bless him, that 
he has ; and he loves his sister so well that he’s 
ready to forgive her anything. Why, bless you, 
he’s talking already of going off to France after 
her, and it ain’t likely he’d go all that way to tell 
her he’d have nothing to do with her. No, he’s 
sorry she’s a papisher, but he don’t forget she’s his 
sister, for all that. And very nat’ral, too, I say, 
for that’s just how I feel about you, Liza, my 
girl” 




CHAPTER XXII. 



ATHER STIRLING was seated in his study, 
so deeply engrossed in the perusal of a cer- 
tain heavy folio, that he did not remark the 
unusual apparition of a post-chaise standing 
at his gate. It was not until his housekeeper had 
placed a card bearing the name of Major Howard, 
under his very nose, that he raised his head, and, 
to his no small surprise, perceived the phenome- 
non. 

“The gentleman is waiting in the parlor, Fa- 


ther.’' 

“Major Howard! Who can he be?” 

“Don’t know, sir; I never saw him before,” 
answered Martha, whose breath had been nearly 
taken away with astonishment. “ I wonder who 
he is ?” she continued, after her master had left the 
room, and she turned the card over about half a 

dozen times, as if she expected it to solve the 

« 

enigma. 

Edward was standing when the priest entered 
the apartment, and, as he refused the chair offered 
him by the latter, there was, of course, no alterna- 
tive left for Father Stirling but to stand also. 
“Mr. Stirling, I believe?” said Edward, haught- 


424 


425 


Trials and Triumphs. 

ily, and drawing himself up to his full propor- 
tions. 

Father Stirling bowed gravely, and waited for 
whatever was to follow so formal an announce- 
ment. 

“You know my sister, I believe?” continued 
Edward, finding that the other still remained 
silent. 

“I have the honor of knowing a Miss Howard; 
a Miss Marion Howard, if you allude to her?” 

“ I do,” replied Edward. “ Well, sir, I want to 
know where she is.” 

“In Paris, I believe,” said Father Stirling; “at 
least she was there when last I heard of her.” 

“Well, sir, and how came she there?” asked 
Edward, in an overbearing tone. 

“ Really, Major Howard, I should have enou gh 
to do, were I to attempt to fathom all the motives 
by which my friends are actuated in their proceed- 
ings. But I do not suppose I should be very far 
wrong, if I were to say I suppose she went to 
learn French.” 

“An evasion, sir!” cried Edward, in a loud 
voice, “ and you know it !” 

For an instant the hot, proud blood rushed 
through the veins of George Stirling, but he 
controlled himself by a great effort, and only 
looked very much surprised. 

“ Are you aware, sir, you are giving me the 
lie?” 

“I nevertheless repeat it!” said Edward, in the 

same tone. “It is an evasion; for you know it 

36 * 


426 


Marion Howard; or . , 

was not to learn French that my sister went to 
Paris.” 

“ Then, sir, I can only say, since you understand 
her motives so much better than I do, it is a great 
pity you should waste your time in asking me 
about them. I have given you my own impres- 
sion of her reason for going ; but, as it seems 
I am mistaken, perhaps you will not think it too 
much trouble to enlighten me?” 

“Well, then,” replied the other, “my sister went 
to France because she had no longer a home in 
England.” 

“Indeed!” replied Father Stirling. “I am sorry 
to hear it, though how this could be the case, I 
can hardly understand. The door of her mother’s 
house was, I know, closed against her; but there 
were three homes, to my knowledge, open to receive 
her. Two, permanently, and the third, certainly 
till she could provide herself with a suitable en- 
gagement as governess.” 

“ Engagement as governess!” replied Edward; 
“ and what should make the daughter of Captain 
Howard require a situation as governess, I should 
like to know?” 

“That which reduces the daughters of many 
captains to a like exigency — the force of circum- 
stances. Notwithstanding the kind entreaties of 
her friends, she steadily refused their invitations, 
and went to Paris to fit herself for a profession that 
would render her independent of their assistance, 
I must say, sorely against their desire.” 

“Acting for once by her own free will,” said 


Trials and Triumphs . 427 

Edward, sarcastically. “ There was no advantage 
to be gained from coercing her in this instance, I 
suppose ?” 

“ Nor in any other,” replied Father Stirling. 
“ Miss Howard possesses one of the firmest minds 
I ever met with in a young person. It would be 
difficult to coerce her.” 

“ I am sure, sir,” said Edward, curling his lip, 
“your opinion of my sister’s strength of mind is 
very flattering to her, and ought to be very grati- 
fying to me. What indomitable will and courage 
in so young a girl ! To seek a new religion, 
embrace it, defy her mother, become an exile in a 
foreign country, and all this, with no other aid 
than her own firm mind and will ! Why, Mr. Stir- 
ling, my sister must be an eighth wonder!” 

“She would be, Mr. Howard, were this all true; 
but you have mistaken me. Your sister found a 
new religion, and she embraced it in this very 
chapel. She bowed to her mother’s decision, 
though she did not defy it, for she loved her too 
well for that. She lives even now an exile from 
England, but she has not done all this by her own 
mind and will.” 

“By whose, then? Yours?” 

“ Mine ! That had been as weak, even weaker, 
perhaps, than hers. No ; all that she has done, 
and is doing, was, and is in the strength of 
Almighty God.” 

. “And you dare stand in the face of daylight, in 
the presence of God Himself, and utter such words 
as those? Speak of Him ‘too pure to behold 


428 


Marion Howard ; or , 

iniquity,’ as counselling and encouraging disobedi- 
ence, and the want of all natural affection ! 0, 

Popery!” he continued, clasping his hands, “ can 
we be surprised at its fruits, when such are its 
ministers !” 

Father Stirling’s lip was almost bitten through 
with determination. “ ‘ Whoso loveth father and 
mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me.’ ” 

“ Even Satan,” replied his visitor, “ can wrest 
the Scriptures to serve his ends.” 

“ I cannot see what I have wrested in that quo- 
tation,” observed Father Stirling. 

Edward laughed scornfully. “ Not in the letter, 
perhaps, and thus it is that Romanism wins over 
silly girls. But I should be sorry to insult your 
common sense by thinking, for one moment, that 
you yourself believe half the nonsense you profess 
and teach.” 

“And yet I would a thousand times rather that 
you did insult my common sense, than insult God 
in my sacred calling, as you have done, ever since 
you entered my house, Major Howard.” 

“ When a man acts as you have done, with 
regard to my sister, he cannot expect to be treated 
with anything but contempt.” 

“You are begging the question, sir; but as I am 
willing to believe that you are misled, partly, per- 
haps from prejudice, I will tell you what I really 
have had to do with Miss Howard. Some few 
years ago, when quite a child, your sister came here 
to visit Mrs. Darrell, and was, I believe, even then, 
rather struck with the ceremonies of our worship. 


429 


Trials and Triumphs . 

I myself upon one occasion, had a little conversa- 
tion with her about the Catholic Sunday, I remem- 
ber, but that was all. A few days after, she and I 
were severely injured by the upsetting of a gig, 
and I did not see her again for five years. At the 
end of that time she again visited Mrs. Darrell, 
and one morning while that lady and her daughter 
went on a little errand of charity, Miss Howard 
remained with me in this very room. Our conver- 
sation was upon religion, but the subject was com- 
menced by herself. She asked me many questions, 
which I answered to the best of my ability, mean- 
while praying earnestly that God might enlighten 

her. Not another word was said bv either of us 

* 

on the subject, though we frequently met, until 
she called upon me one Sunday afternoon, and told 
me, that being thoroughly convinced that the reli- 
gion of the Catholics was true, she had resolved to 
become one. Then three weeks later, having 
instructed her, I received her into the church. 
You know, it seems, as well as I, the persecution 
that followed ; I trust some day you may hear her 
trials from her own lips. This is all I have had to 
do with her conversation, but I candidly tell you, 
that could I think my poor prayers, or imperfect 
explanations, had been instrumental in it, I would 
thank God on my bended knees for having conde- 
scended to use so poor an instrument in so great a 
work. But I cannot felicitate myself on this, for 
my share in the work was very small. And yet, 
Major Howard, you come to my house, and as 
though by some unlawful act I had led away your 


430 


Marion Howard ; or, 

sister into a course of crime, you insult me, nay, 
almost brand me as a liar. Nevertheless, I can 
willingly believe that you are a gentleman. I can 
well imagine that your ordinary accents are those 
of courtesy and politeness; no man but considers 
that he derogates from his position as a gentleman 
when he treats a priest with opprobrium and insult. 
You say, I do not believe half the doctrines I 
profess. Why then do I profess them ? Is this 
lowly roof and quiet life, think you, a great reward 
for the pain and trouble of such a life-long decep- 
tion as mine must be ? If I do not believe this 
religion, why did I, like your own sister, give up 
evervthing that the world holds dearest to embrace 
it? Perhaps you think that I am only holding fast 
the error in which I was born. If so, you are mis- 
taken. I, too, am a convert. You have charged 
me with falsehood ; would you like me to accuse 
you of cowardice ? My father was a soldier ; sup- 
posing, like him, I had taken up the arms of this 
world, I believe I do not err in saying, that you 
would not have dared to cast an innuendo on the 
officer, where you have so strangely insulted the 
priest. But while the soldier of this world resents 
his injuries, the soldier of Christ must bear them 
patiently. When the general of an army lies on 
the bare earth, his followers must not murmur for 
a softer couch; and the disciples of Him who was 
* spit upon, and reviled,’ must look for persecution, 
and complain not when it arrives. I place my 
cause in the hands of Him, who is, even now, judg- 
ing between us.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 431 

There was a long pause. “Mr. Stirling,” said 
his visitor, walking up to him and offering his 
hand, “ you are right ; I have grievously wronged 
and insulted you. Believe me, though, nothing but 
the blow I have received in finding my sister so 
alienated from her family, could have made me for- 
get myself as I have done. But I am truly sorry.” 

Father Stirling smiled one of his own peculiar 
heart-smiles, as he warmly grasped the proffered 
hand. “ I can well understand, my dear sir, what 
you feel, aware as I am, of the horror with which 
our religion is regarded by the generality of Pro- 
testants. Let me say, however, that it is for want 
of knowing it better. Protestants see a genuflex- 
ion, and they cry ‘idolatry;’ they hear that we 
worship the Virgin Mary, and they cry ‘ supersti- 
tion while confession and absolution are defined 
by no loftier epithet than ‘ tom-foolery.’ Is not 
this true ?” 

“It is not far wrong,” replied the other, smiling. 

“ And yet see what men give up for this ‘ idolatry, 
superstition, and tom-foolery,’ ” returned the priest. 
“And this, not only the ignorant and weak, but men 
of high mental power and education. Perhaps, 
Major Howard, in India, the following fact may 
not have come under your notice, but during your 
sojourn in England, just remark this: A change 
from the Protestant to the Catholic religion is 
rarely, if ever, attended with any worldly advantage 
to the convert. It frequently entails upon him the 
loss of home, friends, position, and poverty, some- 
times, indeed I may say often, of the whole four 


432 


Afar ion If oward ; or, 

combined. When, on the other hand, do we hear 
of a person giving up the Catholic religion, who 
does not with the change, gain some worldly 
advantage ? It may be the wife to please the 
husband, and ensure the harmony of the domestic 
circle, or vice versa , or else the starving Irishman 
who gives up, or pretends to give up his faith, for 
bread to feed his little ones. It may be tem- 
poral interest that is the bait, such as that gained 
by the apostate prelates and courtiers, who, under 
Henry the Eighth, fattened on the sequestrated 
revenues of the Church. Should a priest of our 
own day fall from his high estate, it is, I might say 
without exception, because he has grown weary of 
his vows, and can find no respectable way of break- 
ing them, but by apostacy. Do we ever see a man 
suffering for Protestantism ? I do not say there is 
not such a man, but I do say, that with all my 
experience of the world, I have never met with one. 
I have seen the apostate priest the hero of the 
platform, hugged, courted, caressed, by the credu- 
lous public, but never have I seen a man leave the 
high places of our Church, just as all lay fair 
before him, to creep into an obscure Protestant 
curacy for his conscience’ sake. But I have seen, 
and do see every day, Protestant clergymen give 
up good benefices to become obscure priests, or, if 
married, even to glide silently into the secular life, 
into some employment perhaps most contrary to 
their tastes, and only sufficient for their daily bread. 
And why? Because when God says ‘Come!’ they 
do not tarry. And in this, my dear sir, I am not 


433 


Trials and Triumphs . 

speaking from what I think or opine, but from 
what I know, and if you will look into the subject 
for yourself, you will see that I have spoken truly. 
But come,” he added, changing his tone, “ I do not 
see why we should still stand facing each other in 
this antagonistic fashion ; sit down and tell me all 
you wish to know about your sister. Nothing 
could give me greater pleasure than to render you 
any assistance in my power in finding her, for I 
know no one in whom I am more interested. I 
may truly say, her troubles have been mine, poor 
child.” 

Edward took a chair. “ It is her address in 
Paris I want, for I must go and see her at once, 
though my plans are as yet so uncertain that I 
hardly know what my course concerning her will 
eventually be.” 

“You have not seen her for some years, I 
believe?” 

“ I have never seen her,” replied Edward. 

“ Never seen your own sister! How very extra- 
ordinary! Then let me tell you, you will find a 
little body as good as she is clever, and as pretty 
as she is good ! She is a universal favorite here. 

Edward’s eyes sparkled. Impulsive fellow! He 
was beginning to like Father Stirling wonderfully. 

“Do you think she is happy in France?” he 
asked. 

Father Stirling hesitated. “Well, no,” he said 
at length. “ I do not think she is. Mrs. Darrell 
showed me a letter from her the other day, 

throughout which, though it was cheerful, we 

37 


434 


Marion Howard; or \ 


could both see the tone of cheerfulness was as- 
sumed. I know what French schools are, and I 
cannot see how a girl tenderly nurtured as she has 
been, can possibly be comfortable there. I know 
she must fret after home.” 

“ And she shall have one,” cried Edward, impet- 
uously; “I will stay in England, as I at first in- 
tended, and she shall be my little housekeeper. 
But I tell you candidly, I shall leave no stone un- 
turned to root out her new ideas. Before six 
months are over, you will find her as good a Pro- 
testant as ever.” 

“ I can trust her,” said Father Stirling, laughing; 
‘‘she is too humble in her own strength to fall; 
you, too strong in your fraternal love to tyrannize. 
There was a tremendous bow-wow when you first 
came in, but you are too much like Marion for it 
to last long.” 

Edward laughed. “Well, I was thoroughly 
savage with you, I know. Everything I had set 
my heart on seemed to have vanished like the 
‘baseless fabric of a vision/ and I certainly traced 
all my troubles to you. But things seem much 
clearer now. I cannot tell you what a relief it is 
to me to find that it was not necessity that drove 
her abroad. It is also a comfort to know, that one 
of my poor grandmother’s last acts was to befriend 
her.” 

“Which she did most tenderly, I can assure 
you,” replied the priest. “Although herself not 
oppressed with this world’s goods, Miss Howard’s 
determination to be a governess was highly dis- 


435 


Trials and Triumphs . 

tasteful to her grandmother. She was ready, she 
said, to retrench in any way for the pleasure of 
having her with her. But though she was liberal 
minded, her friends were not, and your sister soon 
perceived that her religion was the cause of no 
little discomfort to her kind relation. This decided 
her course at once, and she went to France.” 

“Do you think Mrs. Howard knows of her 
mother-in-law’s death ?” 

“ I cannot say. Old Mrs. Howard has been dead 
a month, has she not?” 

“Yes; so at least Mr. Twidgett, her lawyer, 
informed me, who is the only person from whom 
I have received any intelligence concerning this 
sad event. He says that he wrote to Mrs. How- 
ard, informing her of it, but that he did not receive 
any answer from her. At first I attributed this, 
rather harshly, perhaps, to indifference, but I now 
think it probable that the people who have taken 
her house at Ennington, and who have a very 
unfriendly feeling towards her, may have neglected 
to forward it. I shall be glad if it be so, as it will 
remove one great cause of displeasure I have 
entertained against my step-mother.” 

“Yes, it does not do to judge harshly,” observed 
Father Stirling. “ It is always safer to hear 
both sides of the question before giving the 
verdict.” 

. Edward smiled. “The cap fits,” he remarked. 

“So does mine,” returned the priest, “ for within 
the last half-hour I prejudged somebody very 
severely.” 


43 $ 


Marion Howard ; or. 


“And with good reason,” replied the other. 

“I did not know that Mrs. Howard had left 
Ennington,” observed Father Stirling, “ nor do I 
think your sister is aware of it, for she did not 
mention the circumstance in her last letter.” 

“ Probably not,” said Edward, seeing that there 
has been no communication between the mother 
and her child for so long. “I have no doubt 
myself that Mrs. Howard left Ennington because 
the place and its associations were too much 
for her.” 

“Do you purpose finding her out also?” 

“ Certainly not. I shall leave her to herself. 
She has no claim upon me, and as she is amply 
provided for, I need not trouble myself about her. 
I could not be decently civil to her if we met, and, 
therefore, for her sake, Marion’s and mine, I had 
better keep out of the way. No; I shall see my 
affairs a little straight, and then start for Paris. 
Will you give me the address ?” 

“ I will go and look for it,” said the priest, 
rising; “it is in my study.” 

He left the room as he spoke, but in a few 
minutes returned empty-handed. 

“I am sorry to say I have put it away with some 
letters; but I will make a search and send it down 
to you in the course of the evening, that is, if you 
purpose passing the night in Harleyford.” 

“ Such is my intention. Perhaps, as I am a 
stranger, you will recommend me an hotel.” 

“The Green Dragon is generally considered the 
best, I believe,” said Father Stirling. 


437 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“ Then the Green Dragon let it be. May I 
have the pleasure of your company to dinner with 
me at six ?” 

“ With the greatest pleasure. I trust by that 
time I shall have found your sister’s letter. Au 
revoir ! ” 

Father Stirling watched the chaise drive off 
from the little green gate, a smile on his lip, and a 
strange, earnest light in his calm gray eyes. 

“ What will be the end of it? Will there not 
be danger in her constant contact with such a 
spirit as that ? No, Marion Howard, I do not fear 
for you. Truth shall triumph! God only knows; 
perhaps he too will become a Catholic !” 

He walked back into the house, and taking up 
his breviary, turned over the pages abstractedly. 
At length, laying the book upon the table, he 
passed into the chapel, and walking slowly up to 
the rails, knelt before the altar. 

What was his prayer? Something so earnest, 
that the time passed unheeded, and the October 
sun was casting a slanting shadow on the image 
of Mary, investing it with a ruddy, life-like glow, 
before he arose from his knees. “ This one, even 
this one,” were his last whispered words, as, rising 
to his full hei ght, he once more bowed his knee as 
though loath to quit that Presence, the Faith, and 
Hope, and Love of his lonely life. 

37 * 




CHAPTER XXIII. 



N ostler from the Green Dragon wants to see 
you directly, F'ather,” said the housekeeper, 
opening the parlor door, the afternoon after 
Edward Howard’s visit to the priest. 

“ The Green Dragon!” cried Father Stirling, 
opening his eyes, “ the Green Dragon — to be sure ; 
but whatever can be the matter? Major Howard 
has left me a message, I suppose. Show him in.” 
“ Please, sir,” said the man, entering, and pulling 
a piece of hair that seemed to grow on purpose for 
salutations ; “ please, sir, warn’t it you as dined 

with a Muster ’Oward at our place last night?” 
“To be sure I did.” 

“Then, sir, the Missus sent me to tell you, as 
how the gem’men is uncommon bad. He’s took 
off his ’ed altogether, sir, he be.” 

“ When was he taken ill ? He complained last 
night, but I did not for an instant apprehend any- 
thing serious ; I thought he would have left this 
morning, or I would have gone to see him the first 
thing. Have you a doctor for him ?” 

“ No, sir. I went for two on ’em, as I corned 
here, but they was both out. He was feverish 
when our Polly, the chambermaid, went to call 

433 


Trials and Triumphs . 


439 


him, though he didn’t get real, to say bad, till 
about an hour or so ago.” 

“ Tell your mistress I will be down directly, and 
will bring Mr. Seymour with me. Poor fellow, 
what a dreadful thing! Stay, here’s something for 
your trouble.” 

“Thankee sir,” said John, pulling his lock and 
vanishing. 

o 

* Edward Howard’s illness was no slight attack, 
and within a few days from the time of his arrival 
at Harleyford, life and death seemed poised upon 
an equal balance, and battled stoutly for the vic- 
tory. As he himself had said, fatigue, excitement, 
and change of climate, had worked their will on 
a constitution not too strong; and two sad faces 
bent over the young soldier’s bed. 

“ It is certainly the crisis,” observed Mr. Sey- 
mour, taking out his watch and lifting the burning 
hand. 

Father Stirling sighed. 

“This is too much for you,” said the doctor; 
“we shall have you knocked up next. 

Except to say Mass, Father Stirling had hardly 
quitted the sufferer’s bed. 

“ I wish now I had written to his sister, but I was 
afraid of alarming her needlessly, poor child.” 

“You acted for the best in not doing so, but no 
one can tell how these things terminate. I appre- 
hended no danger yesterday ; now I must say I fee! 
very uneasy. You see the lucid intervals become 
rarer and rarer. He is a fine young fellow, it 
would be a great pity.” 


44 ° 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ Fiat voluntas Tua" said Father Stirling; “but 

7 o' 

the idea of his passing away in his Protestantism 
is a very sad one.” 

“ And yet I fear it must be so,” replied the doc- 
tor ; “for even were his mind to become clear, as 
is sometimes the case at the last, it would not be 
the moment to attempt his conversion.” 

“ God’s ways are not man’s ways,” replied 
Father Stirling, almost sternly; “nor are our sea- 
sons His. We never know; I have seen stranger 
things than even this would be. But I hope he 
will recover.” 

“ I shall be glad when Jarvis comes, for I begin 
to feel very anxious,” said Mr. Seymour. 

At that moment Dr. Jarvis and another medical 
man entered the room, and Father Stirling walked 
down stairs to leave them to their consultation. 
At the foot of the stair-case he was met by the 
landlady, who told him that Mr. and Mrs. Darrell 
had just come, and were waiting for him in the 
parlor. 

It would be impossible to describe the real 
pleasure with which Father Stirling welcomed his 
friends. 

“We have only just arrived,” said Mr. Darrell; 
“but as soon as we reached the gates, Turner gave 
us your message, asking me to come to you here. 
It seems the man told her that Major Howard was 
ill, and the old woman has been in a dreadful state 
ever since, especially as the answers to Eliza’s 
inquiries have grown more and more unfavorable. 
So I sent the girls in, and Mary and I drove down 


44i 


Trials and Triumphs. 

J 

at once. Now tell us about him. Is he in any 
danger ?” 

“ Very great danger. Seymour says, humanly 
speaking, the chances are equal.” 

“ Poor fellow !” 

“Have you a good nurse?” asked Mrs. Darrell. 

“That we have not; if I could have left him, I 
would have gone to look for another. She is a 
dirty, deaf, snuffy old woman, about as useless and 
uncomfortable in a sick chamber, as you can well 
imagine.” 

“You shall have Turner.” 

“ Now that is an act of real charity,” said Father 
Stirling. “ I was wondering how we should man- 
age to-morrow, for I must be away all the morning, 
and I could never have found it in my heart to 
leave him with Mrs. Brown.” 

“But you have not yet told us anything about 
him,” said Mr. Darrell ; “ what sort of a man is 
he ?” 

“ Th oroughly good;” and here followed the story 
of Edward’s visit to him, with its stormy begin- 
ning and tranquil termination. “ I dined with him 
afterwards, in this very room,” continued Father 
Stirling, “and I must say, I never passed a more 
pleasant evening. He is a man of first-rate educa- 
tion, good sense, and universal intelligence, while 
his ordinary manners are those of a well-bred 
gentleman. I can understand his illness very well, 
for I am sure his excitement must have been some- 
thing very tremendous, to induce him to transgress 
the rules of social politeness, as he did at first with 


44 2 


Marion Howard ; or, 

— 

me. Will you go up and see him as soon as these 
gentlemen come down ?” 

The creaking of boots on the stairs announced 
that the consultation was ended, and our little 
party mounted to the sufferer’s room. When Mr. 
Seymour joined them a few minutes later, they 
saw plainly that his hopes were vanishing fast. 

“ One of the most acute cases of brain fever 
I have ever known," he remarked to Mrs. Darrell; 
“ but we must hope for the best." 

“ I think I had better stay with you," replied 
that lady, who had already seated herself in the 
nurse’s chair, and was arranging a pillow as only a 
woman can. “ I can do so very well," she added, 
placing her cool soft hand on the young man’s 
throbbing brow. 

“ Indeed, you must do no such thing," replied 
Father Stirling; “it would be a great deal too 
much for you after your journey. Mr. Seymour 
will, I know, agree with me." 

“I am sure it would," replied the doctor; “only 
let us have Mrs. Turner, and we shall manage very 
well." And so, having straightened the bed, and 
dismissed the obnoxious nurse, Mrs. Darrell de- 
parted with her husband, and about an hour aftei- 
wards old Turner set out, on what was truly to 
her an errand of love. 

Father Stirling and his new assistant passed a 
dreadful night, as side by side they watched their 
patient, now raving in delirium, now prostrate from 
utter exhaustion. Mr. Seymour came and went 
the whole night through, snatching from time to 


443 


Trials and Triumphs. 

time, an uneasy sleep in an adjoining room. The 
hours rolled on, and as the danger became more 
imminent, the doctor’s face grew more anxious 
still; Turner wept bitterly, and Father Stirling 
prayed long and earnestly. Another hour of 
watching, at the end of which the sufferer fell 
into a doze ; not a breath was heard from the 
watchers, and gradually the slumber grew deeper 
and more peaceful. When the morning broke 
Edward was sleeping like an infant, and the three 
faces, lately so sorrowful, were radiant with deli ght. 
The crisis was over, and the patient saved. 

It is not our intention to pass with poor Turner 
through all the dull monotony of the sick chamber, 
as her charge slowly recovered. He did recover, 
and before the end of three weeks, was sitting in a 
large chair before his bed-room fire, pale, it is 
true, and still very weak, but looking very bright 
indeed for an invalid. Old Turner, at the further 
end of the room, sat knitting, looking up occa- 
sionally from her work, comparing her patient 
with the dear old master, and rejoicing in the 
happy chance that had made her his nurse during 
his sickness. In the front of the fire, mulling some 
claret, stood Mrs. Darrell, while Emily was just 
unpacking a perfect harvest of grapes and necta- 
rines on the little table. 

“ You are too good!” exclaimed Edward, turning 
to the latter; “you do not know what I have been 
thinking of all the morning.” 

“ No. Something very deep, I suppose.” 

“ Deep and simple too. I have been thinking 


444 


Marion Howard; or , 

of the story of the good Samaritan. I need not 
tell you what brought it into my head.” 

“ The sight of some good old man on a donkey 
in the street, I dare say,” replied Emily. 

Edward smiled. “ It was not a sight at all, 
that suggested it, but rather a thought. The 
thought of the kind hearts among whom a certain 
wayfaring stranger had fallen. But the stranger, I 
was thinking of, was even better off than the 
traveller of the parable, for where he found one 
good Samaritan, I have found many.” 

“ You! I see then, Mr. Egoist, you have been 
thinking about yourself. If you were a Catholic, 
you would not be allowed to do that.” 

“Indeed! What, then, do Catholics think 
about ?” 

“ Other people.” 

“ Ecce signum /” said Edward, pointing to the 
fruit; “well, then, I must be half a Catholic, for I 
know I think very often of all of you. If Marion 
be only half as good, I shall be satisfied.” 

“Marion! She is a little angel, Major How- 
ard, you will be delighted with her.” 

“When I see her, perhaps I may,” said Edward, 
moving restlessly in his chair; “but I wonder 
when that will be, I gain strength so slowly. I 
can hardly cross the room yet.” 

“ Nevertheless you are strong enough to bear 
the journey to the Cedars, I am sure,” said Mrs. 
Darrell, turning around from her claret; “and I 
shall call and speak to Mr. Seymour about it, this 
very afternoon.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 


445 


“ What ! hamper yourself with a sick man, my 
dear Mrs. Darrell !” expostulated Edward; “indeed, 
this must not be.” 

“ But indeed it must,” said Mrs. Darrell. “ Come 
now,” she added, merrily, “you have borne such a 
good character for patience during your illness, 
you must not grow refractory now. You are very 
dull here, and want fresh air and society, and you 
must have them. Three weeks in one room is 
enough for anybody.” 

“ Have I been ill only three weeks ?” asked 
Edward. “ It seems an age. I wonder what poor 
Marion is suffering- all this time. I am afraid she 
is very unhappy in France.” 

“ I hope not, otherwise I should be anxious for 
her to come to us at once. As it is, I think it 
would be better that she should remain until you 
are well enough to bring her. The journey from 
Paris is long and dreary for a young girl alone. 
It seems strange not to let her know any of these 
late events, but to tell her you are here and ill, 
would make her very uneasy; and, of course, if 
she knew you were in England, we could not 
account for your not going to see her in any other 
way.” 

“ Besides,” rejoined Edward, “ I know it is a silly 
idea, but I have set my heart on surprising her.” 

There was another thing, too, on which he had 
set his heart, and that was on making her a Pro- 
testant, before he again subjected her to the influ- 
ence of the Darrells. Grateful as he was to them, 

he still shrank from their religion. 

38 


446 


Marion Howard ; or, 


The very next evening saw Edward on the draw- 
ing-room couch at the Cedars, where a cheerful 
party were gathered around the first fire of the 
season. What is there, gentle reader, in a first 
fire? Nothing more than usual, surely. And yet, 
you and I both know well, how brightly it burns 
and dances up the chimney, and how it laughs 
among the cups and saucers, putting the very 
lamps and tapers themselves to shame. Another 
will be 1 ighted to-morrow, and it will be a cheerful, 
bright, and homely fire, but it will not be as redo- 
lent of comfort, as ecstatic in its sparkles, as last 
night’s blaze. Is it the first gushing melody of the 
home spirit, the first kiss of his lip, as he nestles 
upon the hearth ? Perhaps : I know not, but I do 
know, that one has brighter thoughts and dreams 
beside the first autumn fire, than anywhere else on 
earth. 

Happy as they were, our little party were very 
quiet, the three ladies busy with their needle-work, 
and Mr. Darrell and Father Stirling with their 
chess. Edward looked from one to the other ; 
poor fellow, it was the first English fire-side he 
had ever seen, and he thought of Marion, and 
formed a bright vision of many evenings such as 
this. Was he not satisfied, when in all human 
certainty he might soon expect the vision to be 
realized? Men are strange beings! riddles in their 
longings, riddles in their discontent — not quite. 
He could not have said why. Perhaps, dearly as 
he loved his little sister, another idea indefinable 
even to himself, had entered the soldier’s heart. 


447 


Trials and Triumphs . 

For Marion, he had sold his commission, crossed 
the ocean, and left the friends of his childhood, and 
yet at this moment, perhaps for the first in his life, 
he felt as though her affection would not content 
him. He glanced around the room again, and 
covered his face with his hand, and thinking that 
he slept, the voices grew more hushed. But he 
was awake, keenly awake to every sound and 
word, especially to the music of two girlish voices, 
though he could not tell which was the sweeter 
of the two. 

“You must take your medicine, for you know 
Mr. Seymour has made me head nurse,” said 
Emily, handing him the glass. “ Stop, let me 
shake up the pillow.” 

It was soon done, and Edward sank back again, 
thanking her with his eyes ; had it been a block 
of stone placed to receive him, the touch oi those 
light fingers would, he believed, have made it 
a bed of roses. As it was, he nestled in the down, 
and, for the first time in his life, wove a romantic 
story. 

The days flew by, till the couch was exchanged 
for a chair, and that again for the carriage. Then 
came walks, and even rides on horse-back, until 
the full tide of life and strength returned, and 
Edward was himself again. Yet not himself, for 
though the red blood mantled in his cheek, and 
the light shone in his eye, he was an altered man. 
The soldier who had been impregnable to the 
battery of so many Calcutta seasons, had yielded 
without a struggle to the first English glances, 


448 


Marion Howard ; or, 

though strange to say, he could not tell which of 
the two sisters had conquered him. “ Who could 
choose between them?” he asked himself, as a 
morning or two before his intended departure, 
they tripped into the room, radiant in their new 
winter bonnets, to take him to see a waterfall 
a mile or two from the house. “ One mi ght as 
well try to decide between the red and white 
rose, or the morning sunshine and evening moon- 
light!” 

The walk to the waterfall was a merry one, 
for the girls laughed and chatted all the way, 
and Edward was exuberant in the joyousness of 
recovered health, and the happiness of the moment. 

“ If it could be always like this,” he whispered ; 
but when he thought of Marion, a pang of re- 
proach shot through his heart. “ My darling 
Golden-hair!” and the truant sped back to his 
allegiance. 

“ Papa and mamma talked of coming to meet 
us,” observed Emily, as they were returning ; “ if. 
they do so, I suppose we shall see them very soon 
What a delicious heap of leaves to walk in !” she 
exclaimed, suddenly bounding like a kitten, to 
the other side of the road, and rustling them 
with her feet. “ I do so love this. Come, Edie.” 

“ No, thank you, I do not like to trouble the 
dead. ‘ Re quie sc at in pace! ” 

Emily laughed, and continued her walk. “ I 
wish all sacrileges were as harmless as this.” 

“ i Re quie sc at in pace ,’ ” repeated Edward; “it is 
sweet to repeat those words over forgiven injuries, 


449 


Trials and Triumphs. 

old sorrows, and dead friends. It is a good wish 
uttered in pretty words.” 

“Very,” replied Edith, “ especially in our religion, 
where the words are a prayer as well as a wish.” 

This was almost the first time religion had been 
mentioned to him by any of the family, and, coming 
as they did, from Edith, the words made him look 
up in surprise. 

“ I mean what I say,” she added, smiling. “ It 
seems to me, Mr. Howard, that a religion that 
does not pray for its dead, must be very cold and 
comfortless. If those I loved were to pass away, 
my only consolation would be to pray for them.” 

“ Am I simply to bow, or am I to answer what I 
think ?” 

“ The latter, certainly.” 

“Then forgive me, if I say, that the beauty 
of the idea is no excuse for the falsity of doctrine. 
We do not pray for the dead, because we do not 
believe in the efficacy of such prayers. As the 
tree falls, so it must lie.” 

“ Most assuredly, for there is no repentance 
beyond the grave. A man dies only once, and 
then he dies for either heaven or hell.” 

“ So we say, but you go further, and imagine a 
third place,” rejoined Edward. 

“Indeed! Where is it?” 

“ I do not know ; it would be rather difficult to 
decide; but I mean purgatory. You believe in 
that, do you not?” 

“ I should hope I do,” replied his companion, 

smiling; “but I look on purgatory as heaven.” 

3S* 


450 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“What can you mean, my dear Miss Darrell? 
If your idea of purgatory be what I have been told 
it is, it must be a peculiar kind of paradise !” 
“Perhaps so,” replied Edith, “but it is part of 
paradise, nevertheless. Is not the certainty of 
heaven, think you, paradise in itself? Suppose, 
Major Howard, you built one mansion with a 
porch, and another one without, how many houses 
would you possess?” 

“ Two, of course.” 

“Then call one of these houses hell, and the 
other heaven, with its porch purgatory; and you 
will understand what I mean. For what would 
centuries of suffering be, compared to an eternity 
of joy, but a little, little porch? It has always 
amused me, from a child, to hear people outside 
the Church talk as though three distinct hereafters 
lay before a Catholic. What can there be for a 
saint but heaven, and for a sinner but hell ?” 

“ But if heaven be limited to saints, it will be but 
scantily peopled,” observed Edward. 

“ And yet it certainly is limited to them,” replied 
Edith, “ for we know that nothing defiled can 
enter the kingdom of heaven ; and what is the 
world at large, but fearfully, dreadfully defiled ?” 
“The Blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin!” 
exclaimed Edward. 

“Yes, I know that, for the Catholic looks to 
Christ, and to Christ alone, for the remission of his 
sins through the merits of His Blood shed for the 
whole world on Calvary. Without this, there 
would be no treasure in the Church no grace 


45 ' 


Trials a7id Triumphs. 

in any Sacrament, no efficacy in any contrition, no 
salvation, no heaven for any of us. Nothing but 
hell, black, and yawning for all.” 

She paused, but her companion made no reply. 
“You did not think our Christianity was so 
simple, perhaps,” remarked Edith. 

“ Candidly, I acknowledge, I did not. I did 
not expect half such a clear, bright confession 
of the great Gospel Truth. But you are an excej - 
tion, Miss Darrell. Upon what do the generality 
of Catholics build their faith ?” 

“Upon ‘Jesus Christ and Him Crucified.’ Do 
you think, Major Howard,” she suddenly asked, 
turning upon him the full light of her dark, 
earnest eyes, “that I would tell you an untruth?” 
“ I am certain you would not,” was the reply. 
“Then believe me, when I tell you, that in 
that name the faith, the hope, the heart-love of 
every Catholic centres. The sunless world, the 
soulless body, the sightless eye, would be but 
faint types of a Christless Catholicity. You might 
as well talk of heaven without God.” 

“ But then, if your faith in the merits of your 
Redeemer be so strong, where is the need of pur- 
gatory ?” 

“ I can simply repeat what I said before, that 
nothing defiled can enter heaven.” 

“But can anything be defiled, that has been 
washed in the Blood of the Lamb.” 

“Certainly not,” replied the young girl; “hence 
it is that there are souls that pass at once to the 
presence of God. Souls that have lived in such 


45 2 


Marion Howard; or, 


union with Him, have toiled so incessantly at the 
work of their salvation, and sought so constantly 
the cleansing stream to wash away each speck and 
spot of contamination, that by the grace of God, 
who gave them this disposition, they have passed 
straight and undefiled into the Beatific Vision. 
Clean in heart, they see God. But what shall we 
say of the tepid, the negligent, the slothful, the timid 
believer? Shall such a one be wafted straight to 
that heaven, for which, perhaps, he has hardly ever 
sighed ? And yet that man was a believer. There 
have been moments in which he would have died 
for his religion, others when he has even wept over 
his sins, because they had offended a Father, whom 
with all his carelessness, he really loved, and dying, 
he has called on him for pardon, and on Christ for 
help and grace. Shall that loving soul, although 
so feebly loving, be cast into hell, to become the 
prey of the devil and his angels? Who could love 
our dear Lord, and believe in his love for us, and 
imagine such a thing as this? But when he shall 
have expiated his sins, shall have been tried in the 
furnace seven times heated, and when he shall have 
been purified like fine gold, then we believe he 
shall be hailed in the mansions of eternal rest, and 
find a home among the ‘Everlasting Hills.’” 

At this instant they were joined by Emily, who 
seemed rather surprised at the turn the conversa- 
tion had taken. 

“ I am glad you have come,” said Edward ; 
“ Miss Edith is trying to convert me.” 

“ I wish she could,” replied Emily ; “ though I 


453 


Trials and Triumphs. 

am afraid that is more than she will manage in 
one morning’s work.” 

“ Well, certainly, purgatory is not a very invit- 
ing doctrine to begin with,” answered Edward ; “ I 
must say I infinitely prefer the Protestant idea of 
stepping quietly and comfortably into heaven at 
once.” 

“There, now,” exclaimed Emily, laughing; “you 
yourself have exactly given the difference. What 
we believe is a doctrine , what you believe an idea. 
You could not possibly have given a better defini- 
tion.” 

“ I did not intend it as such, I can assure you,” 
returned the gentleman; “my definition would be 
just the reverse, of course.” 

“You do not make any distinction between mor- 
tal and venial sins?” observed Edith. 

“ Decidedly not. ‘ Sin is the transgression of 
the law ;’ so says the Bible, nor does it say more. 
I find nothing of the words mortal and venial.” 

“ Do you believe, then, that when you have an 
uncharitable thought, or practice a little act of self- 
ishness, you are on a par with Nero or Caligula?” 
“No; I have too good an opinion of myself for 
that.” 

“And yet, rash judgment and selfishness are sins, 
are they not?” 

“To a certain extent they are, and consequently 
displeasing to God, for which reason, I should do 

my best to avoid them.” 

“ But suppose you do not avoid them, for human 

nature, remember, is very frail; what then?” 


454 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“I must repent.” 

“But suppose you do not even do this, for 
human nature is also very blind, and little sins 
glide through our consciences, very much as the 
metal held in solution passes with the water 
th rough the sieve. What then, do you expect to 
go to heaven in spite of the ‘ trangression of the 
law./ or is your portion to be with Nero and Cali- 
gula? You see you must make a distinction in 
the gravity of sins. Shal 1 I tell you our doctrine 
on the subject?” 

“Yes, do. I like to hear you talk about your 
religion, you look so earnest. I am not surprised 
at Marion changing hers, with you for her pio- 
neers.” 

“Major Howard,” said Edith, pausing in her 
walk, and looking at him steadfastly, “you must 
not give cither Emily or myself the credit of 
Marion’s conversion, for she never spoke to either 
of us on the subject until she had quite made up 
her mind. We prayed for her very hard, just as 
we are doing now for you, but we never said a 
word to her.” 

“You do not mean to say you pray for me to 
become a Roman Catholic!” said Edward, laughing. 

“To be sure we do,” replied Emily. 

“Then heartily, most heartily do I thank you; 
but, believe me, that prayer, sweet as are the lips 
that breathe it, has never yet pierced the ‘ golden 
pavement,’ though may God grant, that as it sinks 
back to earth, it may fall in blessings on the heads 
of the two fair supplicants.” 


455 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“Shall I tell you, Major Howard, what a little 
angel whispered to me last night?” asked Emily, 
“just a little secret.” 

“ Do ; angels’ whispers and ladies’ secrets are 
worth hearing.” 

“Well then, he told me you would one day be a 
Catholic.” 

“Did you believe him?” 

“ I did ; and mark my words, if ever you are a 
Catholic, you will be a priest. Mind, you are to 

say your first Mass for Edith, and your second for 

_ >> 
me. 

“Ag reed,” cried Edward, laughing, while Emily 
joined him with all her heart. 

Why did another little figure bow her head, 
and rustle the dead leaves in her turn? 

“ And so you wish me to be a Catholic ?” 
continued Edward, musingly. “ Well, I can thor- 
oughly appreciate the kindness of the hearts that 
breathe the wish, believing, as those hearts do, 
that in the word Catholic * is concentred all that 
is most glorious in God and goodness ; but it will 
never be. Catholics cling too much to the merit 
of their own good works for me, seeing, as I do, 
in the word of God, that ‘ salvation is by faith 
alone.’ ” 

“I cannot understand that,” replied Emily, “for 
the ‘ devils believe and tremble.’ For myself, I 
cannot imagine how the two can be separated, for 
‘ faith without works is dead,’ and works without 
faith would be only heathen virtue. People talk a 
great deal of our reliance on our good works, but 


45 6 Marion Howard; or> 

it seems to me, after all, that we are really saved 
by them, and that we cannot be saved without. It 
is not only the atonement that is necessary, but 
the application of that atonement to our souls ; for 
though Christ has died for the whole world, many 
thousands fall into hell every day in spite of Him. 
And why is this, but simply because they hate God 
and love sin. Now, it is a bad action to do either 
the one or the other, and they are lost. Every day, 
let us hope, many souls are welcomed in heaven. 
Why is this ? Because they loved God and hated sin. 
Here are two actions, and they are saved. I can 
only tell you what I think in very simple words, 
for I am not so used to talking about religion as 
Edith is, and cannot express myself so well, but do 
you see what I mean ?” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ Then, when the great good work is performed, 
and the sinner is in a state of grace, we believe 
that any other good work he may perform expiates 
the temporal punishment due to him, and merits 
for him a greater increase of glory in that heaven 
that Christ has opened for him. But if Edie 
explained our doctrine of mortal and venial sin to 
you, you would understand this better. I do not 
pretend to be a controversialist, and it was she 
who entered the lists with you. I am only the 
'squire, to carry the shield and hand the weapons.” 

“ I am sure I know very little of controversy,” 
replied Edith, smiling; “but I know what I believe 
as a Catholic, and why I believe it. Voila tout. A 
mortal sin is a grievous offence against God which 


457 


Trials and Triumphs . 

deprives the offender of the friendship of God and 
sanctifying grace, and renders him deserving of 
eternal punishment in hell. Venial sin is a smaller 
offence against God, which does not deserve hell, 
but which must nevertheless be expiated before 
entering heaven. This may be by repentance and 
suffering here, or by purgatory hereafter.” 

“ I see. Then purgatory has nothing to do with 
mortal sin ?” 

“Yes, it has, in this way: the temporal punish- 
ment due to every grievous sin will be inflicted 
there, if not expiated before in this world. I see 
you do not understand this. The Catholic faith 
teaches that, besides the eternal punishment due 
to sin which, as all believe, was turned from us 
only by the death of Christ, there yet remains 
another, over and above, and this is what is called 
the 'temporal punishment.’ I can show you what 
this is by an example from the Old Testament. 
David committed a sin, and Nathan the prophet, 
sent by God, visited him. The king repented : 
'I have sinned/ said he, ‘against the Lord.’ And 
Nathan replied, ‘The Lord hath taken away th TT 
sin ; thou shalt not die.’ Thus was the eternal 
punishment remitted, but see what followed after. 
‘ The child that is born to thee shall surely die.’ 
Here was a temporal punishment inflicted to 
satisfy the offended majesty of God, though the sin 
had been forgiven. Again, do you remember how, 
in his pride, David once numbered the people ? 
Once more he repented, once more he was for- 
given, but once more was the temporal punishment 
39 


458 


Marion Howard ; or, 

inflicted. Seven years of famine, three months 
flight before his enemies, or three days pestilence. 
He chose the last, but imagine what an alterna- 
tive ! Is it not enough to make one tremble, for 
how shall we stand if a penance such as this was 
inflicted for a sin comparatively slight, and that 
after it was forgiven ?” 

“ But this was not purgatory.’’ 

44 It was not inflicted in the place, or rather state, 
that we call purgatory, but it was a purgatorial or 
cleansing punishment, inflicted to render David 
once more pure in the sight of God. Temporal 
punishment is not by any means invariably in- 
flicted after death. God frequently sends it here 
in the form of some heavy cross. More than this, 
we may even anticipate it in this life by some pen- 
ance, voluntarily borne, to disarm the vengeance 
of God. It may also be forestalled by good works, 
as when our Lord says, 4 He that converteth a 
sinner from the error of his ways, shall save a soul 
from death, and cover a multitude of sins;’ and 
again, 4 Give alms, and all things are clean unto 
you ;’ and when St. Paul says, 4 Charity covers a 
multitude of sins.’ We may anticipate it by 
prayer, as we have once more an example in king 
David, for part of the penance inflicted on him in the 
three days pestilence was remitted upon his prayer 
at the threshing-floor of Araunah the Jebusite.” 

44 There is one thing I should like to know,” 
said Edward, after a pause of some minutes dura- 
tion. 44 Do you believe God forgives a sin, how- 
ever great, upon the repentance of the sinner ?” 


459 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“Certainly; provided it is a true repentance, not 
only a horror of hell, or a remorse caused by 
human considerations, or a regret springing from 
personal suffering, caused by one’s own sins, 
though these are all well and right in their place. 
It must be a true, deep, earnest compunction for 
having offended so great a God, and so good a 
Father.” 

“And this you believe is enough to save the 
soul?” 

“Undoubtedly it is.” 

“Then why confess your sins to a priest?” 

“ Because the sacrament of penance is the 
medium God has Himself chosen for the confessing 
of the sin, and the according of the pardon.” 

“I do not see this,” replied Edward. 

“ ‘Whose sins ye shall forgive, they are forgiven; 
and whose sins ye shall retain, they are retained ;’ 
and again, ‘ Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth, 
shall be bound in heaven ; and whatsoever ye shall 
loose on earth, shall be loosed in heaven.’ ” 

“ Of course I knew, my dear Miss Darrell, that 
these two texts were coming ; if it were not for 
these, your doctrine would indeed be unsupported. 
But, just look here. Can you imagine anything 
more likely to have a demoralizing effect upon the 
mass of the people, than the idea, that let a man’s 
sins be what they may, he has only to go and 
whisper them to a priest, and then, these forgiven, 
commence afresh his course of crime and iniquity ?” 

“Not more than your own doctrine of faith and 
repentance is demoralizing,” replied Edith. “ There 


460 Marion Howard ; or , 

is only this difference between you and ourselves. 
The Protestant who repents, kneels down in his 
own chamber and confesses his sins, to go forth 
and sin afresh, while the Catholic has the additional 
trouble of going to the priest. Rather, therefore, 
than an easier process, the Catholic’s confession is 
the more difficult one of the two. But if you 
imagine that a few words whispered, for form’s 
sake, in a confessional, will ensure forgiveness of 
the sins confessed, you are grievously mistaken. 
An humble gesture, a bowed head, a sad voice, may 
deceive a priest, and the absolution may be pro- 
nounced, but God looks at the heart, and if sorrow 
for sin be wanting, that absolution will not be 
ratified in heaven. ‘To err, is human; to forgive, 
divine.’ Man, weak, erring man, may rise from his 
knees, and quit the confessional, only to sin again. 
But if while he spoke those words, ‘ I confess to 
Almighty God,’ he did confess his sins, resolving, 
with all the steadfastness of his heart, to keep from 
evil, as from his Father’s most bitter enemy, both 
you and I, Major Howard, know that that repent- 
ance was genuine, however signally he may fall 
afterwards. If, however, that man should content 
himself with a cold, callous confession, unaccom- 
panied by sorrow, or if he should wilfully conceal 
one grave sin, that man would leave the church, 
even deeper dyed in iniquity, for he would have 
added sacrilege to his former guilt. What the pen 
is to the writer, such is the priest to the hand of 
God. A weak, frail instrument, it is true, but the 
medium of great and glorious things. Of all the 


Trials and Triumphs . 461 

seven pillars of the Church, there is not, after the 
Holy Eucharist and Baptism, such a sacrament as 
this. You are, I believe, Major Howard, a Chris- 
tian ; you have led, I do not doubt, a consistent, 
conscientious life ; but there must be shadows on 
your conscience you do not like to look at. Could 
you once hear those words, ‘ Go in peace,’ as the 
door is closed, you would understand why I feel so 
deeply as I speak to you of this. Could you but 
glance into it for one moment with the eye of faith, 
you would see what great and beautiful things 
there are in our religion. They lie like pearls and 
precious stones at the bottom of a river, but the 
water is transparent, and he who looks may see 
them shining through, while he who dives for them 
may draw forth a shining store !” 

“ Sweet enthusiast !” thought Edward, as he 
glanced at the beaming eye and flushed cheek 
of the young speaker. But he said nothing, and 
our little party moved on in deep silence, broken 
only by the wind as it creaked the leafless branches, 
and by the discontented twitters of the sparrows 
overhead. But a fervent prayer was rising from 
one heart, long since detached from earth, and a 
strange new day-dream was flitting around another, 
while Edward found that the walk to the waterfall 
had decided a wavering balance. 

Soon after, Mr. and Mrs. Darrell appeared in 
sight, and the little party hurried to meet them. 

“Have you enjoyed your walk?” 

“ Immensely,” replied Edward, and he spoke the 
truth. 


39 * 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



fr 

A 

k 

A 


r 

V- 


ARDLY an hour had elapsed from the mo- 
ment of Edward’s arrival at the school, before 
Marion found herself packing her trunks in 
the little room at Madame Le Brun’s. Even 
now she was obliged to pause occasionally in her 
task, to reassure herself that she was in reality up 
and awake. “Suppose it should be a dream, after 
all, and brother Edward only a phantom of the 
imagination !” But the garments strewed around 
were sufficient to prove that it was a veritable 
packing up, and her boxes were just deposited 
in the court, when she heard Edward’s voice sum- 
moning her to the voiture. 

It was difficult for the brother and sister to 
imagine that they had only just met, and had 
never met before. Having left the luggage at his 
friend’s house, Edward drove back to a grand 
restaurant on the boulevard, all light and glitter, 
that they might have the first few hours all to them- 
selves. They had a great deal to say, and before 
they left the table, Edward had sighed over her 
conversion, stormed, in spite of his good resolu- 
tions, over her banishment from home, and had 
nearly laughed himself into a fit over Miss Tubbier 
462 


Trials and Triumphs . 463 

and her exactions. But Marion could not imagine 

o 

that he saw the gravity of the case. 

“ Listen, Edward,” she expostulated, as they 
walked home along the brilliant boulevard, “ if 
I do not stop and go on with the lessons, Miss 
Tubbier will expect me to pay her, I do not know 
how much money.” 

“ She is quite welcome to do that,” rejoined her 
brother; “ n >w just explain the whole affair to me, 
for it seems a most complicated piece of business.” 

Marion did so. 

“And how much have you already paid her?” 
asked Edward, in conclusion. 

Marion named the amount. 

“ Then she may return you a few pounds if she 
likes, for conscience’ sake, or retain them in remem- 
brance of a silly little girl. O, deliver me from 
Miss Tubbier! what is she like?” 

“A woman, I suppose,” answered Marion, laugh- 
ing. 

“ I question it,” replied her brother. 

At this moment Edward hailed a voiture, and 
they were soon driving towaids the Champs Ely- 
sees. 

“ Golden-hair,” asked Edward, in a low voice, 
“ what is this story I hear of a certain curate.?” 

Marion’s face, which had been raised to hear 
the question, was suddenly turned away. 

“What is it?” he asked again. 

“ Only that he has given me up too.” 

“Were you engaged to him?” 

“No.” 


464 


Marion Howard ; or. 


“Then how could he give you up?” 

“ He came to Harleyford to ask me to be his 
wife, and I told him I was a Catholic,” said Marion, 
firmly. 

“ And what then ?” 

“ He went away, and I have never seen him 
since.” 

“And do you care for him?” 

Silence gave consent. 

“ Well, cheer up, darling,” cried Edward ; “ it 
will be all right yet. I do not at all despair of 
seeing you a Protestant again. When we are 
settled, I will get you some thoroughly good 
books on the subject, and take you to hear some 
of the very best preachers, and we shall see if 
they do not convert you back again.” 

Marion started up with such energy that she 
fairly startled him. “ Do you suppose,” she ex- 
claimed, “ that I would read a Protestant book, 
or enter a Protestant church ? Do you think I 
want to be converted back again ? I would rather 
ten thousand times stop here and work at Miss 
Tubbler’s lessons all my life. Edward, my bro- 
ther, let us understand each other at once. I have 
longed for you, looked for you, prayed for you, as 
earnestly as I should think a poor shipwrecked 
sailor looks for land; but, unless you promise to 
leave me free, quite free in my religion, I dare not 
go back with you. Even if it killed me to see 
you go without me, I would welcome death before 
apostasy !” 

“Golden-hair,” said her brother, “you misunder- 


465 


Trials and Triumphs. 

stand me. I promise, before God, to leave you free 
to serve Him, as you will, when you will, where 
you will. Is that enough ?” 

Her head dropped upon his shoulder. “ I will 
try to be all you can wish in everything else.” 

“ That promise is more than enough,” said 
Edward; “ for I only want a sister’s love.” 

The time in Paris passed quickly by. The sea 
was soon crossed again, some of the furniture 
removed from the little house in Islington, more 
bought, and before many weeks, Marion found 
herself the installed mistress of a very pretty villa 
in one of the sunniest suburbs of London. Ed- 
ward’s vision was realized, and he thought so, as 
one windy evening in February he and Marion 
sat in the neatest of little parlors, learned-looking 
with his books, home-looking with her nicknacks, 
and bright with their grandmother’s Indian curi- 
osities. The little copper kettle sang merrily 
'between them, just as he did a year ago, when 
Marion and the dear old lady, now so silent in 
death, discussed her conversion and future plans. 
His song was a merry one, too, although he had 
commenced at first with rather a melancholy whirr, 
as though in heart he still lingered among the 
shadows of the past, with the little coterie at 
Islington, and was not yet accustomed to his villa 
home. But soon he bubbled gayly, and Marion, 
who had been for some time watching his red 
nose very earnestly, rose to make the tea. 

“ I shall be getting jealous of that book soon, 
Edward.” she exclaimed, as he sat, after the 


466 Marion Howard ; or } 

fashion of all book-worms, hastily conning the 
last few words of the chapter before laying it by. 

“Buckland” closed with a bang, and in two 
minutes they were as merry as the cricket, whose 
song reached them even there, from his home 
under the kitchen hearth. 

“ I had a letter from the Cedars to-day,” observed 
Marion, as she handed him his tea. 

“ How are they all?” 

“ Very well. It was from Mrs. Darrell, and she 
told me two pieces of news.” 

“What are they?” 

“ One is, that Joe is coming home next month. 
It appears he has been ill, and has been recom- 
mended to return to England ; but Mrs. Darrell 
seems to think that he is, in reality, tired of the 
sea, and wishes to settle down at home.” 

“And what is the other piece of intelligence, 
if I may ask ?” inquired her brother. 

“Something that ought to make me very glad, 
but it seems so strange, that I cannot realize it 
at all.” 

Edward began to feel strangely nervous, and 
wished she would come to the point at once. 

“ I suppose I may tell you,” she continued, 
“though as yet it is, to a certain degree, a secret. 
One of the girls is going into a convent. Guess 
which !” 

“ Good heavens !” cried Edward, as though a 
fearful catastrophe had been related to him. 

“Well, which is it?” asked Marion. 

“ Edith, of course,” said Edward, crossly, be- 


467 


Trials and Triumphs. 

ginning to weigh his teaspoon on the edge of his 
cup. 

“ Then you are wrong.” 

The teaspoon was just balanced, but it lost its 
equilibrium in an instant. 

“What, Emily!” cried Edward; “well, you do 
astonish me ! I never could have thought it. I 
am no judge, of course, in such matters, but I 
should have imagined Edith the very girl likely to 
be taken by the fancied charms of conventual 
life ; while, as for that laughing, chattering, beau- 
tiful Emily, she seems the very antipodes of a nun.” 

“ This is because you do not know them yet ; 
those who know Emily best, say she lives con- 
stantly in the presence of God. With all her 
light-heartedness, I am certain you never heard 
her say a giddy word, nor do a giddy thing.” 

“Never; on the contrary, the real earnestness 
of her character often shines through in those 
very words and actions, but, for all that, Edith 
is much more sedate.” 

“ Not in reality, but she is very much quieter. 
And yet she is a more general favorite than her 
sister, demure as she is, especially with gentle- 
men.” 

“Is she?” ejaculated Edward, rather dryly. 

“Which do you like best?” asked his sister. 

“Emily is decidedly the nicer looking; indeed, 
I do not think I ever saw a prettier girl in my 
life, and her manners* are very winning.” 

“ Am I to infer from that, that she is the 
favorite?” asked Marion, laughing. 


468 


Marion Howard ; or, 

u No, not at all ; mind has always a great charm 
for me, and I consider Edith highly intelligent. It 
is a pity she is so quiet, for when she comes out, 
she shines.” 

“ I know that,” replied Marion. 

“ I have heard of light being hid under a bushel,” 
said Edward, after a long pause, “ but I never heard 
of a greater sacrifice, than for that beautiful girl to 
shut herself up in a nunnery. If she were a fright, 
it would be a different thing.” 

“ Edward, Protestant though you are, you would 
not surely offer only ugly, worthless things to 
God.” 

“ Certainly not, in anything I thought He really 
cared to accept. I should, of course, consider 
nothing too good to offer Him. But He has never 
asked people to become monks and nuns, and 
never will. It is a useless, unnatural life.” 

“ How so?” 

“ In the stupid vows they make, to be sure.” 

“ And yet, dear Edward, of these three vows, the 
first, on a certain occasion, was a command of 
Christ Himself, the second was enjoined by an 
apostle, while the third is added to enable frail 
humanity to carry out the other two.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“ Simply this. A young man once came to our 
blessed Lord, to ask what he must do to be 
perfect. Not merely to lead a good, consistent life, 
mind, for that an easier answer might have been 
returned, but to be perfect. The answer was, to sell 
all he had and give it to the poor, and follow Jesus. 


Trials and Triumphs . 469 

Here, then, is the nun’s first vow of voluntary 
poverty. With regard to the next, of celibacy, St. 
Paul speaks of those who marry as doing well, (as 
of course they must, for matrimony is a sacrament,) 
but he speaks of those who marry not, as doing 
better. And who was it, who, with His own lips, 
said the better part should not be taken from her, 
who, giving up even the lawful cares of this life, 
sat at His feet instead? Surely, what Christ has 
approved, and St Paul enjoined, must be right, and 
hence, as I said just now, the second vow of the 
recluse. But this was not following to the letter 
that divine command, ‘ Let him deny himself, and 
take up his cross, and follow me.’ True self-denial 
is difficult to practice, for naturally a man is tender 
to his own flesh. The horse without a bridle often 
runs to its own destruction, and where could such 
a bridle be found for man as obedience? Another 
man sees our faults, and is a beacon to us ; he sees 
our virtues, and can encourage us on our way ; he 
sees our dangers, and can warn us. But this is not 
all. If we would learn to practice self-denial in its 
intensest form, we must give up our will. Heart, 
liberty, life itself, is nothing to this ; for until a man 
knows what it is to do everything at the bidding 
of another, he can never realize the full sternness 
of the command, ‘ Leave all and follow Me.’ Thus 
the religious makes the greatest of sacrifices, gives 
up all, and makes the third vow of obedience.” 
There was another long pause, filled up by the 
little copper kettle, who sang as vigorously as a 

choir of nuns. 

40 


470 


Marion Howard ; or y 


“ I wish you would look a little, just a very little, 
into our religion/’ remarked Marion. 

“ Now, Golden-hair, I declare that is too bad. 
Just think how sharply you were down upon me, 
when I asked you to examine mine.” 

“ Because you asked me to reexamine that in 
which I had lived nearly all my life, and doctrines 

m 

which, having thoroughly understood, I saw good 
reason to disbelieve, or I should never have dis- 
believed them. I, on the contrary, ask you to 
look into a subject on which you have never, 
perhaps, thought seriously for ten minutes to- 
gether.” 

“ How do you know that?” 

“ Of course, I do not know, it is only a surmise. 
Tell me, however, that you have seriously con- 
sidered it, and I shall be satisfied.” 

“ Candidly then, I never have, and equally can- 
didly, it has been because I have never thou ght 
the subject worth the trouble.” 

“Are you afraid to read one of my books?” 

“ Not at all. Indeed, I should rather like to 
do so, that I might understand your arguments 
better.” 

“Then I will bring one to your room this 
evening.” 

That night the well-worn, shabby “ Keenan ” 
lay on Edward’s toilette. 

It was about a month after this that Marion, 
who was writing a letter, heard her brother’s 
step in the passage, much earlier than he usually 
returned from the British Museum, where he spent 


Trials and Triumphs . 471 

the hours that would otherwise have hung heavily 
on his hands. 

“ Edward !” she exclaimed, springing from her 
chair, “ how early you are ! Is there anything the 
matter?” 

“ Nothing, you little nervous thing !” was the 
reply, as he pulled her back in her chair to the no 
small disarrangement of her curls. “There, just 
order tea an hour earlier, and go on with your 
letter. The fact is, I want to catch the train, for I 
am going away for a few days. Shall you be very 
dull without me ?” 

“ I shall miss you, of course, but I dare say I 
shall find plenty to do. I might have the garden 
altered while you are away. Shall I ?” 

“Do, it will give you occupation;” and here 
followed a long list of instructions, very precise in 
detail, but having nothing to do with either you 
or me, dear reader. 

“ I am glad you are going,” said Marion, when 
he had concluded, “ for I think you require a 
change of some kind. You have been looking 
pale, almost ill, for the last few days.” 

“ I know that; but the change I most want 
is something to do. Where do you think I am 
going?” 

“ I have not the slightest idea.” 

“To Harleyford.” 

“To Harleyford! What, to the Cedars?” 

“Yes; I am going to be introduced to Joe, 
and if I like him, I shall make a proposal to 
Mr. Darrell.” 


472 


Marion Howard; or , 

»"V ' — 

“ I am sure you will like him, everybody does ; 
but what are you going to propose?” 

“ Well, to tell you the truth, I have been cogi- 
tating very much over a letter his father wrote me 
yesterday concerning him. I have been thinking 
that, as he has energy, I a little experience of the 
world, and both of us a moderate capital, we 
might enter into a partnership in which these 
three qualifications might be very useful.” 

“ Edward, I should like it so much,” cried 
Marion ; “ what a first-rate idea !” 

“ At first I thought we would go together; but 
as the weather is still cold and cheerless, I decided 
that we would ask the girls here first, and that you 
should go back with them to Harleyford, when 
you would have brighter days for a country visit.” 
“I should like that much better; you always 
guess my wishes exactly.” 

“ It would be hard if I did not study my ‘ lone 
and only bird’ a little, I think.” 

“ I do not know when Emily goes into the con- 
vent,” said Marion ; “ but ask her to come and 
spend a little time with me first.” 

“ I will. And now come and help me to pack 
up my portmanteau, for I must be off in half an 
hour.” 

Marion did miss her brother very much, not- 
withstanding her horticultural labors, for she had 
more time than usual to think, and she thought 
incessantly of her mother. Although, as a rule, 
she said but little to Edward on a subject in which 
she felt he could not naturally sympathize, the sad 


473 


Trials and Triumphs. 

thought of their estrangement cost her many a 
sleepless night and bitter tear, though gratitude to 
him kept her always cheerful in his presence. Now, 
however, that she was alone, she gave way to an 
unrestrained sorrow, much to the contempt of her 
maid, who informed the servant next door that her 
mistress “couldn’t take on more if her young man 
had gone to sea, and all because her brother had 
gone away for a week/’ Ah, Golden-hair, you are 
not the first person whom the world has misjudged, 
or whose affairs have been canvassed over the 
garden wall. 

The week had lengthened into a fortnight before 
a cab one evening drew up before the gate, and 
Marion, radiant with delight, once more welcomed 
Edward home. Again the little kettle sang, it 
seemed to Marion a dreamy song of expectation, 
as she watched her brother, who was making the 
viands disappear with wonderful celerity. 

“ And I now I suppose I may begin to talk to 
you,” she exclaimed, as he laid down his knife and 
fork. “What do you think of Joe?” 

“ He is a capital fellow, and I have no doubt but 
that we shall eventually enter into an arrangement, 
perhaps after Christmas, but his father wishes him 
to travel a little on the continent first. Emily, I 
find, enters the convent in May. I suppose you 
know she is to be in London.” 

“ No, I did not.” 

“ Mrs. Darrell will bring her up, and they will 
stay with us for a week. It is to be expected she 

will take the veil about July, when the whole 

40 * 


474 


Marion Howard; or 

family will come to town. After the ceremony, Joe 
and Edith will spend some little time with us, and 
when he starts on his tour, we shall go back with 
Edith to the Cedars/’ 

“A very nice arrangement,” said Marion ; “ I am 
so delighted that Emily is to come here.” 

“And now, Golden-hair,” said her brother, “ I 
have a strange piece of news for you.” 

“About whom?” she asked, with a faltering 
voice, for his manner half alarmed her. 

“You must guess; but do not be afraid, it is 
nothing in any way tragical.” 

Marion did her best, and there was not an event 
likely or unlikely to transpire at the Cedars that 
she did not imagine. 

“You are not near it,” said her brother; “I 
will tell you this much, it has something to do 
with Father Stirling.” 

“He is going to leave Harleyford ?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“ Some one has left him a legacy ?” 

“ No such luck.” 

“Edward!” cried Marion, suddenly, the blood 
rushing through her heart like a wave, “ he is 
reconciled with Henry Lisle.” 

“No, dear, he is not. What a wild idea!” 
Marion could not attempt another guess after that. 
“ He received somebody you know into the 
church last night — somebody you know and love.” 
“ My dear old Turner?” 

“ No,” said her brother, looking strangely at 
her; “somebody dearer still.” 


!♦ 


Trials and Triumphs . 475 

“ Edward, my own darling brother !” she ex- 
claimed, springing towards him with a low hys- 
terical cry. 

A deep and solemn silence reigned in the room, 
as she knelt before him, with her head upon his 
knee, while more than one tear fell down upon the 
golden ringlets — a silence broken only by the 
song of the little kettle, who sang in Marion’s ears 
a “ Gloria in excelsis.” 

“This has been ‘Keenan’s’ work,” said Edward, 
when Marion was once more seated soberly vis a - 
vis ; “at least it was your little book that first put 
the thought of going to Harleyford into my mind. 
Though I wanted to see Joe, my real intention was 
to see Father Stirling; but I would not say a w r ord 
to you about it, for I was not at all sure, till yes- 
terday morning, that I was convinced.” 

“ And so Father Stirling received you. Is he 
not very much pleased ?” 

“ I never saw any one look happier than he did 
when he bade me good-by at the coach this morn- 
ing. Marion, of all the men 1 ever met, I never 
loved and admired one as I love and admire him. 
And to think, that not six months ago I abused 
him in his own house like a pickpocket. But it 
was his gentleness and forbearance on that occa- 
sion that first drew me to him. One seldom meets 
with a more magnificent character than his.” 

“ And it seems to me that the greatest charm in 
that character is the way in which he adapts him- 
self to the various spirits around him. A scientific 
man could not find a more congenial companion 


476 


Marion Howard. 


than Father Stirling, and yet a child is at home 
with him in two minutes. He is truly 'all things 
to all men.’ ” 

“ He has been everything to me,” said her 
brother. 

Bright indeed were the blue eyes that evening, 
and long and earnest was the conversation that 
followed ; he in the flush of his first enthusiasm, 
she no longer isolated in her faith and love. In 
spite of the shadow that her mother’s alienation 
cast upon her life, the path of the future was not 
so dark, even amid that shadow. No more lonely 
walks to church, no more silence when the heart, 
full of some thought of beauty, longs to speak; 
but union in thought, and word, and deed, in all 
things. 

“ I shall go to Mass with you to-morrow morn- 
ing,” said Edward, as he bade her good-night at 
her chamber door. “ Take care you do not forget 
to call me.” 

She did not forget, and as, side by side, they 
knelt at the Elevation, Golden-hair felt that truly 
this was the happiest moment of her life. 




CHAPTER XXV. 



ND so you saw them off by the train, and left 
your mother brave to the last.” 

“Brave to the last!” repeated Joe Darrell, 
throwing himself into a chair by the open 
window of the little parlor at Streatham ; “ but I con- 
sider that we have all been cowards, except her.” 
“ I do not see that,” replied Edward ; “ it is no 
play-work to part with one of two sisters for life.” 
“ It is not so much that, for of course, I know 
that her choice is a right one, and I feel sure 
she will be happy; but I cannot help thinking how 
she would have shone in the world. I could have 
given her willingly to a husband.” 

“ But not to God.” 

“ How sharp you are on a fellow ! Remember, 
Ned, she was my favorite sister, my little confidante , 
and I cannot think what I shall do without her. 
Just suppose it were Marion, how would you feel ?” 
“Will you believe me if I say, that of all things 
I should most like to see her in a convent ?” 

“ Now that is just because you are a red-hot con- 
vert, and nothing else. Tell the truth, would you 
not rather see her married ?” 

“ No, indeed I would not, and that for many rea- 

477 


47 8 Marion Howard ; or> 

sons. First, nuns are always happy, which cannot 
be said of wives ; secondly, the Spouse of the nun 
never changes, which earthly husbands do ; and 
thirdly, the nun is provided for for life, which 
is not always the lot of the wife and mother in this 
world of change. The nun can never be widowed, 
never be led into extravagance; in short, the convent 
is safe, which married life is not So you see, my 
dear Joe, leaving the high vocation out of t he ques- 
tion, even my worldly prudence would rejoice if 
my sister entered a convent.” 

“ Which L think she is very likely to do,” said 
Joe, half savagely ; “ do not you?” 

“ About the most unlikely person I know. 
Marion likes the world too well to fly from it, and 
yet with too reasonable a love to fear it. So that in 
all probability she will remain in it, though I trust 
not of it, all her life.” 

“I wish Edith would get married,” said Joe; “ I 
do not want to have two of them nuns, I can tell 
you ; however good it may be, as that reverend 
mother said, to have one’s sisters always praying 
for one. I would much rather have them to talk 
to, if it’s all the same to her. God bless my poor 
little Em, what shall I do without her!” 

“ Come, Joe,” said his friend; “you are tired, and 
that makes you cross. Lie down on the sofa.” 
“Well, so I will till supper-time,” replied Joe, 
suiting the action to the word. “ Where are the 
girls ?” 

“ Gone out for a stroll. The fact is, they are in 
rather an April mood ; we had two showers over 


Trials and Triumphs . 


479 


tea. But they are not such heathens as you, their 
uppermost feeling is one of true pleasure when 
they think of Emily. It is strange though, that 
while they can talk calmly enough of her future, 
even should she be sent abroad, the very mention 
of this morning’s ceremony melts them at once.” 

“And no wonder,” cried Joe. “What on earth 
do they want to tantalize her friends for, by dress- 
ing a girl up like a bride, and making her look 
like an angel, before cutting off her hair, and mak- 
ing her. a fright for life? I call it a refinement of 
cruelty.” 

“And I call you a heretic.” 

“Bother it, but I am not, though,” cried Joe; 
“I’ll answer for it, there never was a more out and 
out papist.” 

“And you cannot see the reason of the ceremo- 
nies used in a clothing ?” 

“ Not a bit of it,” replied his friend. 

“Well, I have only my ideas to guide me, but it 
seems to me that of course it is a sacrifice, and it 
ought to be made in a solemn manner.” 

“Ah, as solemn as you like,” cried Joe; “if they 
dressed her in deep black, I could then under- 
stand it.” 

“ And where would then be the type of the spon- 
taneous offering of her young life to God, or of the 
purity of the virgin heart about to unite itself to 
Him forever? What would those outside the 
Church say, think you, to such a doleful ceremo- 
nial as this ?” 

“ I don’t know ; but not more than they say to 


4§o 


Marion Howard ; or, 


the bridal dress. I am sure it must give a girl far 
more distraction than if it were dispensed with.” 

“ So it is in some Orders. But Joe, your argu- 
ment might be used to every ornament employed 
in religious worship, until, having taken away all 
things beautiful, and consequently to a certain 
degree distracting, you brought us down to the 
four walls of the conventicle, and Brother Brown 
in the simple glories of his go-to-meeting superfine. 
Would that suit you ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Joe, “ I’m asleep.” 

“ The best thing for you,” replied Edward; “so 
I will not try to convert you any longer.” 

He was soon once more deep in the book he 
had laid aside at his friend’s entrance. After a 
time, however, the falling evening brought his read- 
ing to a close, and rising from his chair, he walked 
to the window. The movement aroused Joe to 
something between a groan and a yawn. 

“ Are you awake, Joe ?” asked Edward, looking 
around. 

“Humph!” said Joe. 

“ Do you not think the girls ought to be in ?” 
“ Humph !” said Joe again, with a plunge tha f 
sent Marion’s work-basket over on the ground, 
where it lay, a heap of melancholy confusion. 

For another ten minutes there was silence, dur- 
ing which Edward looked out very pensively at 
the moon, just rising above the houses. 

“ How long have I been asleep ?” asked Joe, 
suddenly. 

“About an hour.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 481 

Joe again relapsed into silence, but not into 
sleep, for with his hands joined above his head, 
he lay and watched his friend, who was standing 
with his back to him. 

“ You have a nice little box here, Ned,” he 
observed, at length. 

“ Yes, it always looks bright and cheerful, thanks 
to my home-fairy. Everything in the room is her 
work.” 

“She is indeed a home-fairy,” cried Joe, kissing 
the edge of the anti-macassar. 

“Joe !” 

“ Proceed.” 

“Did you mean what you said just now?” 
“Don’t know,” returned Joe. “I say a good 
many things, but I seldom mean half. Do you 
mean what I said about poor Em ?” 

“ No ; about Edith.” 

“ What did I say about her ? I forget. 

“ That you would like to see her married.” 
“No; I don’t want her to be married par- 
ticularly, except to keep her out of a convent.” 
“Joe,” said Edward again, after another pause. 
“All right,” replied his friend; “what’s the 
matter ?” 

“ I want to say something to you.” 

“ Go ahead, old boy.” 

“ I think you had better give her to me.” 

“ What !” cried Joe, springing upright on the 
sofa; “you don’t mean to say you — ” 

“ Have been overturning my work-basket !” 

exclaimed Marion, opening the door. Only look, 
41 


482 


Marion Howard ; or , 

Edie, at the litter these two boys have made. 
What have you been doing?” 

“ I don’t know exactly/’ said Joe, who looked 
as if he spoke the truth, while Edward began 
gathering up tapes and cotton in his confusion. 

“ Ned, you clumsy fellow,” cried Joe, who was 
shaking with laughter, “you are only making 
things worse. Shall I do it, Marion ?” 

“ By way of improvement,” cried Edith. “ If 
Marion has any respect for her treasures she 
will not let either of you touch them.” 

“Yes, they may, because, if they prick their 
fingers with the pins, it will be a very just penance 
for upsetting it.” 

“Joe did it,” cried Edward; “he went to sleep, 
and kicked it over in the fervor of his dreams.” 
“What did you dream about, Joe?” asked his 
sister. 

“That a horrible old nun was going to cut 
my hair off, which I was determined to resist.” 
“Now, Joe, is that the truth?” 

“ Truth! of course it is! and what is more, I 
don’t expect to dream anything else for a month 
to come.” 

“And what has Edward been doing?” asked 
Marion, laying her hand upon his arm, “ dream- 
ing, too?” 

“ I am afraid so, Golden-hair.” 

“A waking dream, I suppose,” returned Marion. 
“ Not half so grand an institution as a sleeping 
one, I should think,” said Joe; “but I suppose 
they are considered more romantic.” 


Trials and Triumphs. 


4§3 

“ Romantic !” cried Edith ; “ I question whether 
you know what the word means, Joe, you are 
so merely matter-of-fact.” 

“ Give me your definition of the word first, 
sister mine.” 

Edith hesitated.- "The spirit of the beautiful,” 
she answered, shyly. 

“Now, Ned, what say you?” 

“ The innate poetry of a prosy world.” 

“ Marion.” 

“ I do not know.” 

"Nonsense; a young lady without a definition 
of the word romantic! Impossible!” 

“It is true, Joe; though when I was younger 
I was very fond of thinking and talking about it.” 

“ Give us the result of those juvenile cogitations, 
then.” 

“ Well, it used to seem to me that romance 
was the blossom, and reality the actual fruit of life.” 
“ Not a bad one, for the blossom fades to make 
way for the fruit, and I am sure romance gives 
place to reality as we grow old.” 

“ Now, Joe, give us your idea of romance,” cried 
Edward. 

“A slice of cold mutton and a glass of ale for 
reality, the romance you shall have after supper, 
for the fact is, I am waxing hungry.” 

“ Poor fellow !” exclaimed Edward, ringing the 
bell. 

Marion hurried out to give certain little private 
directions, and Edith, who was wonderfully in- 
terested in her companion’s menage, followed her. 


484 


Marion Howard ; or. 


“What say you to a turn for five minutes ?” 
asked Edward, “while they lay the supper cloth.” 

“Capital!” exclaimed Joe; “just what I was 
going to propose.” 

It was a calm quiet evening, such a one as closes 
in a sultry August day; a freshening breeze rustled 
the leaves in the pretty gardens as they passed 
along, and the last rays of the setting sun poured 
a refulgent stream of gold and crimson across the 
horizon. Both gentlemen walked on for some 
time in silence, for the theme of their interrupted 
conversation was still uppermost in their thoughts. 

“ Ned,” exclaimed his companion, at length, “ do 
you really mean to say you like Edith ?” 

“ I do, and have done so from the first moment 
I saw her.” 

“Shall I tell you a secret?” 

“She is already engaged !” cried Edward, catch- 
ing his breath convulsively. 

“ No ; something far brighter for you than that, 
Ned, my poor dear old fellow; Edie likes you.” 

“How do you know?” asked Edward, stopping 
short in his energy. 

“ By a thousand little things I myself should 
never have discovered, but which poor Em noticed, 
and told me of, as one of her greatest troubles, for 
she thought you far too clever and learned to 
bestow a thought on our quiet little Edie. She, of 
course, poor child, has never suspected that her 
secret has been read.” 

“ But your father, Joe, what would he say, for she 
might, I have no doubt, make a better match.” 


435 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ About a month ago he told me that, could he 
fashion a husband after his own heart for either of 
his girls, he should choose no higher standard than 
Edward Howard. So it seems that in this case, in 
spite of the old adage, the course of true love does 
run smooth. Well, Ned, I must say the idea of a 
brother-in-law has sometimes rather bothered me, 
but now the case is altogether different. This is 
a kind of set-off against this morning’s business. 
Poor Em ! I would put up with something uncom- 
monly stiff in a brother-in-law though, to get her 
out in the world again.” 

“ Now, Joe,” cried his friend, “ don’t get cross 
about that again. Very little reflection will soon 
put that straight for you. Of course it seems hard 
at first, but you will cease to regret it, the very 
first time you see her bright face in the convent 
parlor.” 

“Through a grating,” cried Joe. 

“ Throu gh a grating, and why not? Is that 
much to put up with for the love of God ?” 

“ Not for a saint like you, perhaps ; but very 
much for an ordinary every-day sort of a fellow 
like me.” 

“Nonsense, Joe. You are fifty times better than 
I am. You have little idea what a convert is, with 
his miserable doubts and fears. You have always 
been my beau-ideal of a young Catholic English- 
man ; so don’t be scandalizing me now.” 

“Ah, Ned, you do not know all I have had to 
bear. You have told me something about my 

sister, now I will tell you an o’er true tale about 
41 * 


486 


Marion Howard ; or, 

yours.” In a few words Joe told him of Marion’s 
rejection of his suit. “And this,” said he, “is a 
trouble that has not passed away ; my heart is as 
true to her as ever, and mine to-day is a strangely 
mingled sorrow, for I have met my sweet little 
sister again, to part with her for life, and I can see 
in Marion’s eye, after an absence of two years, the 
same fatal glance of sisterly affection. Ned, my 
dear boy, there is no chance for me, is there ?” 

“ None, I fear,” said Edward, in a voice husky 
with emotion. 

“I thought not; indeed, I may say I knew there 
was not. And yet, Edward, night and day I never 
forget her, and I think I could die just to see one 
little flush on her cheek when I meet her. Yet 
that wretched Lisle can give her up with his bigoted 
stupidity. I do not believe he really cares for her.” 
“ Yes, he does, for I saw a letter the other day that 
he w r rote to his sister, when Marion first became a 
Catholic. He has been very intolerant, very ; but 
there has been something very noble in the way in 
which he has sacrificed affection to principle.” 

“ I cannot say I see it,” replied Joe; “but don’t 
you think she will outgrow her fancy for him ?” 

“ Never. Joe, I would give you hope if I could, 
but it would be cruel to deceive you. Marion’s 
is a true woman’s heart, and her love for Henry 
Lisle will only cease with death.” 

Once more they relapsed into a silence which was 
not broken till they stood before the garden gate. 

“Ours has been but a poor exchange, Joe,” said 
Edward, pausing, with his hand on the handle, and 


4§ 7 


Trials and Triumphs . 

looking sympathetically at his friend. “ You have 
made me the happiest of men, while I have only 
deepened a wound for you.’’ 

“ Can’t be helped, old fellow. Besides, it’s only 
what I knew before. I cannot imagine how I can 
be such a fool, as to stand crying over spilt milk. 

I know she will never like me, and I can’t think 
what I have come here for, except to make myself 
miserable by looking at her, like an old cat at a * 
bird in a cage. But, somehow I couldn’t help 
doing so, though I made a dozen resolutions to go 
straight back to Harleyford after the clothing, 
instead of coming to see you. Do you know, Ned, 

I sometimes wish that she was married, for while 
there’s life there’s hope ; and, while there’s a gleam 
of hope, I shall never be fit for anything. Will 
you answer me one question candidly?” 

“If I can.” 

“ Do you think, if Marion had never known that 
young parson, she would have liked me?” 

“That is a difficult question, Joe; what can I 
say ?” 

“The truth, to be sure.” 

“ And make you more miserable ?” 

“Then you think she never could, in any case, 
have fancied me ?” 

“ On the contrary, were her affections free, you 
are, I believe, just the wild dashing spirit that 
would have captivated her. But is this idea a con- 
solation to you? It would be just the reverse to 
me.” 

“Yes, it is. It is a consolation to me to flatter 


488 


At avion Iioivard ; or, 

myself that there is anything in me that, under 
other circumstances, might have won her. Per- 
haps, of all men, a sailor, who, by his very profes- 
sion, is left to brood and dream, who is led across 
the wild waters by the pole-star, and directed by the 
fragile finger of a compass on his course ; he, per- 
haps, of all men, knows most truly what is the 
value of a woman’s heart. But, perhaps, Ned, it 
• is better as it is, for I sometimes think if Marion 
had loved me, I should have ceased to look for 
heaven.” 

“ My poor, dear fellow, no, that you never 
would,” cried Edward, in whose eyes heavy tears 
were standing. “ But cheer up, you will find some 
one much prettier and more clever than my little 
sister. I shall live to see you with a sweet little 
wife even yet.” 

“ No, that I swear you never shall. By George ! 
Prettier and more clever than his sister! I wonder 
the words didn’t choke him. You ought to have 
said better while you were about it.” 

“ Well, come in now, and let us have some 
supper; I am afraid you forget you are hungry.” 
“ It is not the first supper the thought of her 
has spoiled, nor will it be the last. I sometimes 
think, Ned, I shall have to give up the idea of the 
partnership business; it would bring me too much 
into contact with her.” 

“We shall see; you will be' stronger in both 
mind and body after your tour. Have you quite 
made up your mind to start to-morrow ?” 

“ Quite,” said Joe, as they passed into the house. 


1 rials and Triumphs. 


489 


Not one member of the little party was in good 
spirits. The exciting scene of the morning had 
rather unstrung them all, and the conversation of 
the two young men had not passed over without a 
saddening effect on both. Before the conclusion 
of the meal, however, both had in some measure 
recovered themselves, and cheerfulness once more 
resumed its sway with all. 

“ Play us something,” said Edward, and the girls 
sang the familiar duets and the same sweet ballads 
that had so echoed through the old house at the 
Cedars. One or two were laid by, almost rever- 
ently; they could not even open them, for the voice 
that had borne its part in them could not be 
replaced by another. Could they, with the moon, 
have penetrated the chapel in the enclosure at this 
very instant, so bright a face smiled beneath the 
novice’s veil, that they would sing her songs in 
very joy at her happiness, while she sings the 
matins and lauds to the glory of her God. 

“Joe, will you come and sing ‘ All’s Well/ with 
Marion ?” 

Poor boy ! It was hard to sing such a lay as 
that, with his heavy heart. But Joe Darrell sel- 
dom thought of himself, and he moved directly 
to the piano, and took Edith’s place. 

“ I hope we shall not make such a blunder as 
we did that evening at Mr. Seymour’s. Do you 
remember it?” asked Marion, laughing. 

Did he remember it ! Was not each event of 
that night burned into his brain ? 

They sang it very nicely. Old as was the song, 


490 


Marion Howard ; or , 

and simple as was Marion’s untrained voice, there 
was yet a charm in the duet that would have 
pleased many a lover of better music ; but Edward 
and Edith must have been more than stoical, for 
the conclusion of the song actually found them 
talking. It was some little time before they 
seemed even to be aware that the music ceased. 

“ It would not be polite, I suppose/’ exclaimed 
Joe, “to talk of pearls before” — 

A laugh from Marion aroused them to a sense 
of their shortcoming. 

“Thank you,” said Edward, starting, and pulling 
a leaf, not half withered, off his favorite geranium, 
“very well sang, indeed.” 

“ Beautiful !” added Edith. 

“It is a lovely night,” observed Edward, opening 
the French window. “ Would you girls be afraid 
of a walk around the garden ?” 

“ There is nothing I would like better,” said 
Edith. “ It is just what Joe and I do every 
evening at home. Will you come, Marion ?” 

“ Of course she will,” replied Edward, offering 
Edith his arm; “come, let us set them the 
example.” 

Joe rose, but he did not follow them. He only 
took up one of the duets that had been laid aside, 
and read it until the notes and words danced before 
his eyes. 

“ Poor Em !” he ejaculated, laying it down with 
a very heavy sigh. 

The words awoke a slumbering thought in 
Marion’s heart, and they talked of the little nun 


Trials and Triumphs . 491 

for half an hour. He, seated, with his hands resting- 
on the piano, looking at her profile ; she dreamily 
playing strange wild running chords ; but the 
words that fell among the notes were sweet and 
soothing, and while Edward and his companion 
walked around and around the grass-plot, till they 
ought to have been giddy, Marion talked to Joe 
of his sister, and tried to show him how weak it 
was to murmur at the will of God. 

“ But I cannot help it, Marion.” 

“ Yes, you can. When I was but a little child, 
studying with mamma, there sometimes came a 
lesson that I felt as if I could not learn. As she 
never excused it, I sat down with a full determina- 
tion of conquering the difficulty, and I did so, for 
there are some of those lessons I could repeat 
even now. So it is with resignation. It is, indeed, 
a lesson hard to learn but; say once, with a mighty 
effort, ‘ Thy will be done/ and, believe me, you 
will never retract the words.” 

“Do you speak from experience?” 

“ I do — from bitter experience. I have had 
hard and heavy trials, Joe.” 

“ I know it, Marion, and pity you from my 
very heart. Except this morning’s business, I 
have never had but one, and that one has nearly 
crushed me. I never have been, never shall be, 
resigned to that.” 

“Yes, you will; whatever that trial may be, 
you will bear it patiently, if you only try.” 

“ Impossible, Marion, I have tried, but it is of 
no use.” 


r 


49 2 Marion Howard ; or , 

“You have tried in your own strength, and 
failed.” 

“ That is true. My own strength is all that 
I have had to trust to, for my trouble, from its 
very nature, must be borne alone.” 

“Do not say so, Joe; if it is really a trouble, 
it has been already carried up Calvary. Like 
the Cyrenian, you have only helped to carry 
the cross.” 

“ It is of no use talking to me like that, Marion,” 
cried Joe, almost pettishly, “when its weary weight 
is on me day and night. And it will never be 
lighter till you speak one word.” 

She turned and looked at him with an eye so 
full of sympathy and sorrow, that for an instant he 
was mistaken. 

“ Is it possible, Marion !” he exclaimed, leaning 
forward and snatching her hand from the keys ; 
“is there a hope for me?” 

“Joe, dear Joe!” she cried, gently extricating 
her hand from his grasp, “ why will you not let 
me look upon you, think of you, love you, as I 
do Edward ? Believe me, this I do ; more is 
not mine to give. I am unchanged, and unchange- 
able.” 

She arose as she spoke, at the same instant 
Edward and Edith entered from the garden, and 
five minutes later the two girls were up stairs in 
Marion’s room. 

Neither spoke for full ten minutes after the 
door had been locked, but each seemed busy with 
her own thoughts. Edith radiant with smiles, 


493 


Trials and Triumphs. 

combing out her long black hair, and Marion 
arranging a drawer of house linen. At length, 
however, the latter turned from her task, and the 
looking-glass revealed the smiling face, and its 
wonderful expression. 

“ Edie, darling, what is it?” asked Golden-hair, 
laying a hand on each shoulder. In an instant 
Edith had turned, and was sobbing in her arms. 

“ Why, what a funny child you are ! What an 
April day! You were laughing just this minute. 
Are you thinking of Emily? I am your little 
sister now, remember !” • 

“ So he says,” whispered Edith. 

“ Who?” 

Another sob was the answer, and then the truth 
flashed on Marion. 

“ Edie ! My darling! What, has Edward — ” 

“ Hush ! Marion, do hush !” 

But she saw how it was, and, with a long, fond 
kiss, welcomed her new sister to her heart of 
hearts. 

“Joe,” said his companion, some few minutes 
after the girls had returned, and turning to that 
young gentleman, who, extended upon the sofa, 
was fast becoming misty in the smoke of his own 
cigar, “ had I not better write to your father ?” 

“Yes, but to make things quite sure, you had 
better speak to Edie first, 1 think.” 

“Bless the fellow! Why, Joe, I should have 
thought you might have guessed that that piece 
of business had been managed already!” 

“ What a blockhead I am, to be sure ! I recollect 
42 


494 


Marion Howard . 

now how you came in from the garden, she like a 
wet pink rose, and you, for all the world, like a 
peony that couldn’t hold its head up. If I had 
not been thinking of something else, I should have 
wondered what was the matter with you.” 

“ I will tell you of what I have been thinking, 
Joe,” continued his friend, “and that is, that I will 
wait till the girls go to Harleyford next week, 
before I say anything. I could not leave town 
very well just now for long, but I will run up with 
them, and make everything straight and smooth 
with your father then.” 

“Very well, do; but be sure to write and tell me 
what the governor says, and all that sort of thing. 
Why, Ned, I expect he will quite come the patri- 
arch on the occasion.” 

“ How long do you think you will stay abroad, 
Joe?” 

“Till I recover my senses. Don’t laugh, I really 
mean what I say. I am going in downright earnest 
to study resignation.” 

“ God bless you, my poor dear fellow, and make 
the hard lesson easy.” 

“ Amen,” said Joe; “now shall we go to bed?” 




CHAPTER XXVI. 


^HERE! didn’t I say so, Mr. Howard? Didn’t 
1 | I say so, deary ? Didn’t I say I should live 
XV to see my own child hanging on her brother’s 
J arm?” And old Turner’s dim gray eyes 
almost sparkled again in their glee. 

“ Ah, yes, you were a truer prophetess then, 
than I gave you credit for, old lady ; but look, you 
ought to have foretold the two while you were 
about it, for you see, I have a pair of arms and a 
lady to each.” 

“To be sure you have. Two good, strong, stout 
arms, like your father’s. God rest the poor gentle- 
man. And now tell me, Mr. Edward, what do you 
think yourself, could they be better filled?” 

“ No, that they could not,” said Edward, glanc- 
ing alternately at his white and red rose. 

“ That they could not,” repeated the old woman, 
slowly ; “ but there’s one sweet face I miss to-night, 
and shall have to miss, I’m afeard, for many a long 
day, for I suppose we’re never like to hear Miss 
Emily’s sweet voice, nor see her heartsome smile 
again. Poor dear! Well, they may say what they 
like, but I don’t understand them there sort o’ 
things at all.” 


495 


49 6 Marion Howard ; or y 

"She is very happy, nursey,” said Marion; "we 
all three went to see her last night, and she looked 
as bright as a queen.” 

Turner shook her head. 

"O, but she did, though, really,” continued Ma- 
rion; "and sent her love to you, and said I was to 
ask you to take care other geraniums next winter.” 
" Did she now ?” cried Turner; " to be sure I will 
take care of them. She’s not obliged to stop, is 
she, Miss Marion ?” 

" Not at all ; she can come out any moment she 
likes for the next twelve months.” 

" Then we shall have her with us again, even yet, 
for all as is come and gone.” 

"Is that a prophecy, Turner?” asked Edith. 
"No, no, Miss Edie ; because, as I said just now, 
I don’t know nothing about these sort o’ things. I 
only mean, I hope as how she won’t stop. I beg 
your pardon, Miss Edith, but when is Mr. Joe 
coming back ?” 

"I do not know, Turner — why?” 

" Because I miss his merry, bright face about 
here, and because I think, too, that Mr. Edward 
would be better if he had one arm to himself, like. 
Two’s company, you know, Miss Marion, and three 
is none.” 

"Quite true, nursey,” replied Marion, laughing- 
"so suppose I stop here with you.” 

" Indeed, you will do no such thing,” cried 
Edward, magnanimously detaining her, while a 
little flush ran over Edith’s happy face. " What a 
mischievous little mortal you are !” 


497 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ Mischievous ! Just because I want to do what 
you and Edie would like better than anything in 
the world, if you dared say so. Look how nursey 
is laughing ! She is mischievous, if you like. We 
shall have another prophecy directly. . Will you 
stop and hear it? What are you thinking about, 
Turner ?” 

“ Something that makes my old heart very 
happy, deary, and if you will stop a bit with me, 
and let Mr. Edward and Miss Edith go on, I will 
tell you all about it.” 

“Now, I am jealous!” cried Edward, looking, 
however, anything but displeased, as his sister 
bounded from his arm into the little cottage. 
“ Well, if she will go, we cannot help it,” he added, 
pressing his companion’s arm very slightly. “ I 
dare say we shall be able to amuse ourselves.” So 
saying, he closed the gate, and five minutes later 
saw them rambling through the prettiest lane in 
Harleyford. 

“ And so my own pet has come back to the old 
woman, fresh and blooming as a rosebud,” cried 
Turner, flinging her arms around her baby of 
other days. “I did sometimes fear, when I thou giit 
of you all across the seas, that I should never live 
to see this blessed day. But here you are, safe 
and sound, thanks be to God, and just the same 
as ever.” 

Marion only replied by a French kiss, again and 
again repeated. Then a chair was pulled out and 
dusted, though Marion refused even to look at it 

till the old woman was in her usual corner. But 

42 * 


498 


Alar ion Howard ; or, 

when both were fairly seated, there followed such 
a tale on the one side, of France, the French 
school, Miss Tubbier, and last, not least, of the 
pretty little home at Streatham ; and on the other, 
of Edward’s arrival and illness, Emily’s departure, 
and all the events, past and present, at the Cedars, 
that the twilight was deepening fast before Marion 
thought of moving. 

“ Must you go yet, deary ? Won’t you wait for 
Miss Edie and your brother ?” 

“ Well, yes; I suppose I had better do so, nursey. 
They will not be long now, I should think.” 

“I shouldn’t think so,” said the old woman, ‘‘but 
I don’t know; young people holds time with 
butter-fingers, you know, deary, ’specially some- 
times,” she added, smiling. 

“What are you looking so merry about, nursey?” 
asked Marion. 

“Just my own thoughts, Miss Marion. I was 
thinking how very happy Mr. Edward seemed, as 
he turned to shut the gate. Ah, deary, we shall 
be having the church bells ringing before long, I’m 
thinking. Well, they be made for one another, 
that they be !” 

“What has put such a funny idea as that into 
your head, granny ?” 

“Just my own two eyes, child, that saw this 
same thing afore ever Mr. Edward went over to 
bring you. There is only one thing, deary, that 
makes me quake, like, when I see them so happy 
together.” 

“What is that?” asked Marion, nervously. 


Trials and Triumphs . 


499 


“ Miss Edith’s cough, dear. O, but it goes 
right through me, that it does.” 

“ But only when she has a cold.” 

“ Well, it may be so, and I do hope I shall live 
to see her Mr. Edward’s wife, but I feel afeard 
when I hear it. Poor Miss Emily used to worrit 
herself very much about it, because, you know, 
Miss Marion, there is consumption in the family, 
Betsy tells me.” 

“Well, Turner, we are all in the hands of God.” 
“ So we be, deary,” returned the old woman. 
“Besides, it seems hard,” continued Marion, “to 
think of this to-day. I know I may tell you, 
nursey, because I always look upon you as my 
second mother. It was only this morning that 
Edward asked Mr. Darrell’s consent, and this is 
the first day of their engagement.” 

“ Is it, though ?” exclaimed the old woman, with 
a glistening eye ; “ may God bless them, then, and 
spare them to one another for many, many years. 
Aye, deary, but everything looks bright to young 
folks when they’re keeping company, it’s a time 
they look back upon with light hearts, even when 
they are old and gray. Them two will never forget 
this evening in all their lives, Miss Marion, that 
they won’t. God bless them forever, I say.” 

“ Amen,” arose from the heart of her little 
visitor, who had risen and was standing in the 
porch amongst the pink roses, “ for ever and ever.” 
The old woman also stepped out to water her 
flower-beds, too intent upon her task to speak for a 
few minutes, and Golden-hair looked at the setting 


500 


Marion Howard ; or, 


sun, and dreamed. Of what? The sunset was 
bright, but the reverie was very shadowy. It was 
a mingled dream, too, of a mother’s kiss so long 
unknown, of a few words once spoken in the 
library at the Cedars, of her grandmother, and the 
dreary French school. Was that all ? Was there 
not also one little thought that the “ home fairy” 
might not perhaps be what she had been, that 
the married might not be brother Edward still? 
Sweet little Golden-hair. The heart that smiled 
that welcome to the truants was not a very jeal- 
ous one. 

“A goodly parcel of letters!” exclaimed Mr. 
Darrell, as he emptied the post-bag at the break- 
fast table the next morning. “ Behold,” and he 
held up a budget of all shapes and sizes. “ One 
from Joe to me, and one from Joe to you,” tossing 
the letter in question to Edward. “ One from little 
Em,” he added, laying it almost reverently beside 
the mother; “ another for Marion; the rest, I can 
see, a parcel of rubbish about farming and farm 
matters, to be opened as time and convenience 
shall suit.” 

“ Emily writes on behalf of Mother Abbess,” 
said Mrs. Darrell ; “ she says she is as happy as 
the day is long. I should like a Protestant to read 
that letter. It is business-like, merry, and yet 
pious as a sermon, at one and the same time.” 

“ May I read it, mamma ?” asked Edith. 

“ Certainly, dear, and answer it, too, if you like. 
Do you think you will be able to think of any 
news to tell her ?” 


Trials and Triumphs . 501 

The smile that ran around the table made Edith 
glad to take refuge in Emily’s letter. Edward, too, 
became very deeply interested in his. 

“ Joe talks of stopping for some weeks in Paris/’ 
said Mr. Darrell; “he seems to like his companions 
very well on the whole.” 

“Yes, and of going from thence to Switzerland, 
and of ascending Mont Blanc,” observed Edward. 

“Hope he will enjoy it,” said Mr. Darrell. 
“Silly boy, to waste his breath and shoe-leather 
for the pleasure of getting above the clouds, 
into a little deep snow. Never could see the fun 
of that sort of thing myself. What is the matter, 
Marion ?” 

He mi ght well ask ; she had laid her letter 
down with such a strange expression on her face. 

“ Mr. Darrell !” 

“ Miss Howard !” 

“ It is from Mrs. Gordon ; you remember my 
writing to you about her, do you not ?” 

“ Perfectly : you mean the lady who went to 
the Bermudas.” 

“Yes. Well, I will read you her letter,” and 
it was with a flushed cheek that she commenced. 

“ ‘ What have you thought, dearest child, of all 
the letters I have lately written you, so truly con- 
gratulating you on your brother’s arrival and 
affection, so studiously silent about myself, in 
spite of your many questions? Marion, I would 
not tell you anything, when I could not tell you 
all. I would not weary you with my doubts and 
fears, and I had nothing else, peculiar to myself, to 


502 


Afar ion Howard ; or , 


speak of. But the case is altered now; the blind- 
ness of Saul has passed away, I believe. Marion, 
my sweet little sister in sorrow and heart, we are 
sisters now in faith. I will tell you no more, for I 
am about to return to London, my health being 
nearly reestablished ; and then, face to face, you 
shall hear all. All the strange by-paths and 
tortuous ways through which the truth has fol- 
lowed my flying steps, until, like the jailer of 
Philippi, I have cried, amid the flashing of God’s 
own light, and the rending of prison bars, what 
must I do to be saved ? What will my brother 
say? I must not, will not, care. In a letter I 
received from him a few days since, he said he 
thought of spending a few months on the continent 
to recruit his health and spirits, which are, I fear, 
poor fellow, at a very low ebb.” 

The voice of the little reader began to fail, and 
she passed the letter to Mrs. Darrell. 

“ There is nothing more of any consequence,” 
she observed ; “ but has it not been a wonderful 
conversion, she was so very determined ?” 

“ Gloria in excelsis Deo!" cried Mr. Darrell. 
“ Marion, you must show that letter to Father 
Stirling.” 

“ He will, indeed, be pleased,” said Mrs. Darrell ; 
“ she is a very old friend of his.” 

“Yes, I will take him the letter after we have 
seen Edward off this morning,” said Marion. 

“ Can you not stop a day or two longer with 
us, Ned ?” inquired Mr. Darrell, while from Edie’s 
eyes also there stole a very pleading little glance. 


Trials and Triumphs. 

A 


503 


“Indeed, I fear I must not do so; there are 
one or two gentlemen I have promised to see 
this very afternoon, and business must be attended 
to, you know. More than ever, now,” he added, 
with a proud, bright smile, “ I have a double 
reason for trying to make my fortune as soon 
as possible.” 

Edith and Marion smiled, and, breakfast being 
over, passed with Mrs. Darrell through the window 
out upon the lawn. 

“And you will succeed, Edward,” said Mr. Dar- 
rell, as soon as they were alone; “you will succeed. 
The man who could give up inclination for busi- 
ness never went to the wall yet. Mark my words, 
Ned, my boy, you will get on bravely in the 
world.” 

“ I have such a bright, guiding star,” replied 
Edward, “ I can well understand Jacob’s fourteen 
years of servitude, if Rachel was only half what 
Edie is. What do you think of the partnership 
now ?” 

“ We must see how Joe comes back. There 
seems to be, I am happy to say, a more settled tone 
in his last letter. He talks in it of the future, 
something like a man of business.” 

“ He will do well enough in a little time, you will 
see,” remarked Edward, soothingly. 

“ I wish he were more like you,” replied the 
father. 

“You forget he is a few years younger. Joe 
will come out yet quite to your satisfaction, I 
know.” 


504 Marion Howard ; or y 

“Then it will have to be in the firm of Howard 
& Darrell.” 

“We shall have even that, if we have patience, 
and God thus wills it.” 

“ I trust so, most sincerely, my dear boy,” cried 
Mr. Darrell, warmly shaking his young friend’s 
hand. “ I should be very happy in the idea that 
both my children’s lives were linked with yours. 
But, allons'd he added, rising ; “ do you think you 
have time to come and look at the threshing- 
machine that was set up yesterday in the lower 
barn? It is on quite a new principle, and I should 
like to hear what you think of it.” 

“ Plenty of time ; though, with regard to my 
opinion, machinery is a subject on which I am 
more interested than wise. But I should very 
much like to see it.” 

After half an hour’s very learned conversation on 
flails, fly-wheels, cylinders, and horse-power, and 
another of very sad, and somewhat very senti- 
mental adieu x, Edward was on his road back to 
London. Shorly after his departure, Marion was 
standing with a letter in her hand, waiting for the 
presbytery door to be opened. 

“ I am very sorry, Miss, but the Father is out. 
He went away on horseback directly after breakfast, 
and told me he could not say whether he should 
be back to dinner or not. He said, if you called, I 
was to tell you he would try to get up to the 
Cedars this evening to see you.” 

“Thank you, Martha; how is your rheumatism?” 

“ Much about the same. Do you know, Miss 


Trials a) id Triumphs . 505 

Howard, but I am very glad to see you in these 
parts again? It seems a very long time since you 
were here.” 

“ More than a year and a half, and everything 
seems to have been standing still during my 
absence, for I see no alteration in anything, except 
Eliza’s boys' at the Lodge, and that old Turner 
seems a little infirm.” 

“ We must expect that, Miss, at her age; but 
she’s a good old creature. It’s a pity but what 
she was a Catholic.” 

“ She is very happy as she is, and loves God so 
truly, that I do not fear for her. It seems a strange 
thing, perhaps, but, much as I love her, I care less 
for her conversion than that of any one else that I 
know. I look upon her as God’s own ignorant, 
happy child, to whom, for reasons of His own, He 
has never yet shown the full light of His truth. 
But He may speak to her even at the eleventh 
hour; should He do so, rely upon it, old Turner 
will do His bidding. I am sorry Father Stirling is 
not at home. We were out a great deal yesterday, 
and Mrs. Darrell would not let me be called for 
Mass. But when my brother saw Father Stirling 
this morning early, he did not say he was going 
out.” 

“ No, Miss ; it was a letter that came by post that 
took him off What a pity Mr. Howard couldn’t 
stay a little longer, the country air would have 
done him good.” 

“Yes, he has made a very short visit this time, 

for we only came up the day before yesterday.” 

43 


506 Marion Howard ; or y 

“The Father was out all day yesterday, too?” 

“So he sent us word yesterday morning, we were 
all very much disappointed, as it was my brother’s 
only day at the Cedars. If you will give me 
a sheet of paper, I will write a note to Father 
Stirling with this letter, and I shall be . very 
glad if you will give them to him as soon as he 
comes in.” 

“ Certainly,” replied Martha, leading the way 
into the familiar little parlor, when it was some 
minutes before Marion could collect her thoughts 
to write, every object around her was so fraught 
with old associations. 

“ May I go through to the church ?” asked 
Marion, as she gave her letter into Martha’s charge. 

“ To be sure, Miss,” and Marion passed through 
the little arched door, and knelt before the altar. 
She had been distracted over her letter, but she 
was not so now, for the thoughts that crowded 
around her, were woven into her prayer. The past, 
with her mother and Henry Lisle; the present, 
bright with Edward’s happiness and Mrs. Gordon’s 
conversion, and the yielded mysterious future. 
“ Thy will be done,” said Golden-hair, bowing her 
head, and placing that future in the hands of God. 
Nor was poor Joe forgotten in his deep requited 
love, nor the little nun in her solemn, difficult life 
of inward joy. All were remembered in a long, 
deep prayer, but the first and last words of that 
prayer were “ my mother.” Shall the prayer be 
heard? Shall the bright curls nestle once again 
upon her mother’s heart? Patience. Golden-hair, 


507 


Trials and Triumphs . 

be It so or not, remember, “ God does all things 
well.” She did remember it, and passed out of 
the chapel with a strong heart and firm foot. 

“ It will seem very strange when Edward is 
married,” ran her soliloquy, as she walked home. 
“ I am afraid I shall sometimes feel rather in the 
way, as I did last night, and then I shall have no 
nursey to talk to. Of course, too, I shall not keep 
his house, nor make his tea, nor do anything else 
that I do now. Well, I shall soon get used to it 
I suppose. At any rate, I must make Edie think 
that I like to have nothing of the kind to do, or she 
will feel herself a supplanter, and that would make 
me very unhappy. How fond Edward is of her, 
and well may he be ; and yet, somehow, though I 
love her so much myself, I cannot bear the idea of 
any one being dearer to him than I am.” At this 
point in her soliloquy, Marion was walking down 
a very narrow lane, and, in spite of herself, a salt 
tear would trickle down. “What am I doincr?” 
she exclaimed, stopping suddenly short in her 
walk ; “ crying because Edward is so happy ! Why, 
I do believe I am jealous, jealous of dear Edie.” 
And, ashamed of her weakness, Marion turned 
precipitately to other thoughts, and half arranged 
the wedding, by the time she arrived at the Cedars. 

Father Stirling was late home that evening, so 
late, that Martha walked more than once to the 
little green gate, with an uncomfortable recollect 
tion uppermost in her mind, of a certain picnic, 
and its disastrous termination. Bright as usual, 
he came at last, though very much fatigued. 


5°8 Marion Hozvard ; or, 

9 

“I am afraid your dinner is half spoilt, Father, 
but I don’t know, for I have done all I could to 
keep it nice and hot for you.” 

“ I am sorry you should have taken so much 
trouble, Martha, for I have dined ; but, I will tell 
you what you may do, just run over with it to old 
Biddy while it is hot. She does not often get a 
good dinner, or supper either, poor creature, I am 
afraid, for she looked so pale and thin just now, as 
I passed her, sitting at the door.” 

“O, but Father, what am I to give you for your 
supper if I am to send this away,” objected the 
housekeeper, “ for I’ll be bound, notwithstanding 
your dinner, you’re half famished after your ride?” 
“ Have you an egg in the house?” 

“ Yes,” said Martha, discontentedly, “but I don’t 
feel any way sure they’re fresh, for you sent off all 
the new laid ones we had to William Dobson last 
night, and I can’t keep you waiting till I go up to 
the farm.” 

“ Never mind, run over to old Biddy at once, 
and then come back and get me a cup of tea ; and, 
notwithstanding your suspicions concerning the 
eggs, I think I will venture on a couple.” 

“ Did ever any one see the likes of him !” ex- 
claimed Martha, as soon as she arrived in her 
domain, and had begun arranging the tempting 
little dinner in a basin for Biddy. “ I believe, 
if he had any one else but me to look after him, he 
would be starved to skin and bone. But I will go 
up to the farm, for if I break my neck for it, 
he can’t eat musty eggs while I’m in the house.” 


509 


Trials and Triumphs . 

Left to himself, Father Stirling began to think, 
and, to judge by the smile upon his face, his 
thoughts were very bright ones, as he leaned back 
in his arm-chair, playing an imaginary accordeon 
on the tips of his fingers. Presently Marion’s 
note caught his eye, and, breaking the seal, Mrs. 
Gordon’s letter fluttered to the ground. With a 
calm eye and unmoved brow, he read the ecstatic 
effusion of the woman, that had been to him in 
early days what he only knew, and a strange glad 
look passed over his face. But that was all, and 
quietly refolding the letter, the priest rose from his 
seat, and walking into the chapel, sought his con- 
stant refuge in his joys and sorrows, in his usual 
place before the altar. 

Very calmly and warmly did Father Stirling that 
night congratulate Marion on the conversion of her 
friend, when he joined the cheerful party at the 
Cedars, but not a shadow less simply than he spoke 
of Edward’s reception into the Church. 

“ Is it wrong to wish it had been her brother 
instead ?” asked Mrs. Darrell, aside, as Marion 
took her seat by Edith, on the opposite side of the 
room. 

“ Of course it is, my dear friend, very wrong. 
Conversions are not human achievements, and to 
entertain such a wish, is to say to God, 1 What 
doest Thou ?’ and that, you know, we must not 
sav.” 

r 

“ But would it not be delightful if he could be 
brought to see the error of his ways ?” 

“To be sure it would, and so perhaps he will, in 

43 * 


510 Marion Howard; or , 

God’s own time. But we must beware how we 
sit in judgment on the decrees of Providence. 
Fifteen years ago I prayed very hard for the 
instant conversion of this very lady, but now I 
thank God, from the depths of my heart, that he 
did not then grant my prayer. And yet, appar- 
ently, there was every reason to suppose that such 
an event would be in accordance with the Divine 
Will. Even now, Henry Lisle’s conversion may be 
a thing predestined in the infinite wisdom of God, 
but there are two hearts He may see good to try 
first in the crucible of affliction. Do you not 
think so?” 

“Yes I do, Marion Howard’s troubles have 
given a tone to her character.” 

“They have done more, for they have shown her 
the fragility of earthly happiness, and have tau ght 
her to make heaven her treasure-house. They 
have taught her patience and resignation, and 
given her a yearning after the path of perfection — 
a path difficult to distinguish when the blossoms 
of worldly prosperity grow rank and luxuriant. 
God grant she may follow it !” 

“And Mr. Lisle, father — what has his trouble 
done for him ?” 

“ Taught him to suffer ! Given him, perhaps, 
part of a weary purgatory here ! If it had not 
been good for him to be afflicted, his road would 
still have wound on amid pleasant places. Stay, 
Miss Howard is coming to speak to you.” 

The conversation now became general, but as 
the evening wore on, Father Stirling seemed 


Trials and Triumphs . 5 1 1 



wonderfully pre-occupied, and fidgeted from one 
place to another like a spirit of unrest. 

“It seems like old times to have Marion here 
again,” exclaimed Edith. 

“Yes, and any one can see that she is not sorry 
to find herself once more amongst you.” 

“ That indeed she is not,” replied Marion. 

“There have been many changes since her 
arrival here with Joe, that cold winter’s evening,” 
said Mrs. Darrell, musingly. 

“There have indeed,” replied the priest. 

The little party grew silent with their own 
thoughts, the mother of her children, Edie of 
Edward, while Marion’s ideas were a conglomera- 
tion of the reveries of the rest. 

“Will you be very jealous if I ask Miss Howard 
to take a turn or two with me around the garden 
before it gets dark?” asked Father Stirling. 

“ Well, considering how long it is since you saw 
her, I do not think we shall, so you may monopo- 
lize her for half an hour. Am I not generous?” 

“ I never knew Mrs. Darrell anything else,” 
replied the priest, smiling. 

“Thank you,” exclaimed the lady; “but I am 
afraid even Father Stirling was polite then at the 
expense of truth !” 

It was not until they found themselves in the 
very green alley, that had been the scene of 
Marion’s childish conversation with him about the 
Catholic Sunday, that Father Stirling broke silence. 

“ Do you not wonder, my child, what I want you 
for?” 


512 


Marion Howard. 


“ Rather,” replied Marion. 

“Do you remember our last ride together?” 
“Of course I do; neither of us could easily for- 
get it, I should imagine.” 

“Would you be afraid to trust yourself to my 
charioteership again ?” 

“ No, not at all.” 

“Well, I think the journey I wish to take you 
to-morrow, would be worth even a broken head or 
arm.” 

“A journey! Whereto?” asked Marion, open- 
ing her eyes very wide. 

“ Not far. To a little village a few miles off, 
that you have not seen for some time. Will you 

_ -sf > 

go? 

Marion looked at him without speaking. 

“ Come, you do not answer, so I shall conclude 
that silence gives consent.” 

“ Father Stirling, what do you mean ?” 

“What do I mean? Why, my dear child, that 
to-morrow morning, directly after breakfast, I shall 
call around for you in old Jackson’s gig, to drive 
with me to Ennington !” 



CHAPTER XXVII. 


/5 

Cl 


T was a scene of life and gayety, brightness and 
j bustle, with the autumn sun shining redly on 

r | 

the red leaves, and the water sparkling and 
^ flashing in his beams. O, the Bois de Bou- 
logne ! Who, who knows Paris does not know it, 
with its broad roads and gilded gates, its clear 
lakes and verdant lawns, its waving woods and 
tortuous by-paths, its art and nature so magically 
blended, that one cannot say which is the true 
charm of the scene? And who, who loves Paris, 
does not love it, with i-ts flowers and swans, its 
picturesque islands and falling cascades, its morn- 
ing chats and rambles, its mid-day drives and state, 
its evening fetes and merriment?* Plow often has 
the Englishman, fairly wearied with lion hunting, 
sunk with a sigh of relief into one of its cane- 


worked chairs, glad for a while to rest on his oars, 
as he cons his guide book, or thinks over his day’s 
wanderings in peace ! And this was exactly what 
two Englishmen were doing on a certain September 
afternoon. 

It would have been impossible to mistake them 
for anything but what they were — two genuine 


* It need hardly be said that the above was written before 
the cruel devastations of the late war. 


5 T 3 


5H 


Marion Howard ; or , 

sons of Britain, “ doing Paris” desperately. No 
one would certainly have set them down as French- 
men, even had Murray been out of sight. There 
was, however, evidently no desire on their part to 
disclaim their nationality, for they were talking 
animated English, much to the amusement of an 
old lady, “ en bonnet ,” seated on the next chair. 

“ And so you are beginning to get tired of 
Paris?” remarked the younger of the two, a fine 
handsome young fellow, with merry black eyes, 
and dark complexion, rendered still darker by 
exposure to the sun. “ I cannot understand that 
at all; I call it no end of a place!” 

The other smiled. He had seen more summers 
than his companion, and it seemed as though 
much of his interest in life had passed with its 
earlier years. His manners were grave and quiet, 
but his clerical garb made the gravity not unsuit- 
able. The smile excited by the remark of the 
other soon faded, and a rather melancholy shadow 
took its usual place upon his brow. 

“ I am not surprised at your idea of it,” he 
remarked, after a pause. “ I can fancy that those 
who can appreciate its gayeties find Paris a perfect 
Elysium. • As for me, though I can understand its 
charms, they ^d# hot suit me.” 

“ Do you not like this ?” asked the other, point- 
ing to the animated scene around them. 

“Of course I do, and many things besides; but 
usually speaking, Paris grieves and shocks me.” 
The other glanced instinctively at the closed 
vest. “ May I ask if you have been here long ?” 


Trials and Triumphs . 515 

“About a week, and as I am making a tour for 
my health, I do not suppose I shall stay much 
longer. I have not yet decided whether to go oil 
from here to Switzerland, or up the Rhine.” 

“ I am going to Switzerland,” replied the other. 
“The idea of its mountains is to me a most 
bewitching one, for though I have traversed many 
thousands of miles in voyages from London to 
Sydney, and from Sydney to London, I seem to 
have seen but little of the really grand scenery of 
the world. But your temperament is, I should 
imagine, very different to mine, and I can well 
fancy that Germany would suit you better than 
glaciers and mountain passes. Yours is, I am 
sure, just the nature to appreciate the sweet-storied 
Rhine, with its ruined castles and luxuriant vine- 
yards — you like dreamland, I know, and one must 
keep one’s eyes uncomfortably wide open in walk- 
ing along the precipices of the great St. Bernard. 
But that is just the sort of thing I like. Now, tell 
me if I am not right in my estimate of you.” 

“Yes — no. Mine is a dreamy nature, but I 
never dream, for it is a waste of time, and dan- 
gerous. I am thoroughly matter-of-fact.” 

“ Not as much as you think. Perhaps you 
would be surprised if I told you that it was the 
enthusiastic look of admiration you bestowed upon 
that beautiulf glimpse of scenery at St. Cloud, that 
first made me wish to speak to you. That look 
told me that you had a soul ‘ Murray,’ that you 
were an Englishman, while everything else was 
guaranteed by the garb of the English clergyman.” 


Marion Howard; or } 


5i6 

“ I am very glad you did speak to me,” replied 
the other, “for I had been wishing for a companion 
all day. I have been in a great measure alone 
during my stay here, for though I have letters of 
introduction, I have not felt exactly in spirits to 
make use of them and the speaker sighed 
heavily. “ With the exception of an old college 
friend of mine, a clergyman residing here, I have 
hardly spoken to any one.” 

“ And how do you get on with this most barbar- 
ous lingo?” 

“As to that, I can manage pretty well. I was 
at school for some time in the provinces.” 

“ More than I can. I nearly send the old gargon 
into a fit half a dozen times a day, though he is 
polite enough to get black in the face rather than 
grin. I am afraid I shall be the death of him from 
apoplexy some day.” And the young fellow 
laughed till the tears came, at the recollection of 
his various blunders. 

It was some time before they left their seats, 
and the longer they chatted the more animated 
they grew. The naivete with which his young 
companion descanted upon everything that had 
fallen under his notice during his sojourn in France 
considerably amused the clergyman. He almost 
felt his own boyish days return, as he listened 
to an account of the mad-cap frolics and escapades 
of the not many years emancipated school boy. 
But there was a tone of thought and deeper 
feeling, wonderfully perceptible in the young man’s 
observations, when the under-current of his nature 


Trials and Triumphs . 5 1 7 

was stirred, that gave his graver companion a great 
desire to know more of him whom chance had 
thus made the companion of the passing hour. 
The young man, on his side, was quite as favorably 
impressed with his new friend. Weary of the com- 
panions of his tour, youths that love of adventure 
had led into the wild revelry of the Ouartier Latin, 
and among the students of the Ecole dc Medecine , 
he had gradually weaned himself from their party, 
and promising to overtake them on their road, had 
suffered them to depart without him. All this, in 
the natural frankness of his disposition, he told his 
new companion. 

“You have quite made up your mind, then, 
to go on to Switzerland, I presume, ” remarked the 
clergyman. 

“ Not irrevocably, though those fellows are ex- 
pecting me, even now, I know.” 

“If you take my advice, you will not go. You 
do not care much for them, I can see.” 

“Candidly, I do not; the fact is, they are too 
fast for me. Even those of the party that seemed 
very rational at first, are as bad now, if not worse, 
than the rest.” 

“So much for bad example; you had better not 
go after them.” 

“ I have more than half a mind not to do so. I 
was rather upset about one or two little matters 
before leaving England, and I long to be quiet. 
Otherwise, I confess, I should have got on with 
my friends much better; but, somehow, I cannot 
exactly enter into all that sort of thing just now. 


M avion Howard ; or, 


5i8 

I should thoroughly enjoy a quiet party of two 
or three ; or even one friend to travel with, would 
suit me very well.” 

“ You would not care for the company of a dull 
old fellow like me, or we might go up the Rhine 
together.” 

“There is nothing I should like better,” cried 
the other; “we should get on bravely together.” 

“Then be it so,” said the clergyman, rising; 
“but it is getting chilly now, and I think we had 
better move on. This is truly a pretty scene,” he 
continued, turning to take a last look at the gay 
groups. “ I have been very pleased, too, by my 
visit of this morning to St. Cloud. There is 
something to my taste very beautiful in that 
heavy palace, sleeping, as it were, among its stately 
trees and verdant alleys. That and the grand old 
Versailles are among the few things I care for 
here.” 

“Do you not like the Tuileries?” 

“Yes, I do. But there is an air of deep repose 
that especially charms me at Versailles and St. 
Cloud. I suppose you will smile if I say I like 
the dreaminess of the alleys and silent water- 
works.” 

“ Have you not seen the waters play ?” 

“ No, and am not likely to see them, since 
they tell me it will have to be by the dese- 
cration of the Sabbath. Abominable !” he ex- 
claimed, striking his foot vehemently, as though 
denouncing Paris, and Parisian impieties forever. 

“ The country around Paris is very pretty,” 

40 * 


5 T 9 


Trials and Triumphs. 

observed his companion, as they continued their 
walk. 

“To a certain degree, but it in no way equals 
the scenery surrounding London. You will search 
vainly here for the beauties of Richmond and 
Petersham. The woods of Meudon are well 
enough, but along what a flat, dreary scene of 
desolate looking fields and vineyards you must 
pass, to reach it from Paris. How different from 
the pretty villa-dotted roads that lead out in all 
directions from our metropolis. A man, to my 
thinking, must be Paris-mad who can for an instant 
compare it with our grand old London. Take her 
altogether,” he continued, “ England is a beautiful 
little country. The castles of the Rhine, and the 
glaciers of Switzerland, may be all very well, but 
the charm of English scenery lies in something 
deeper and dearer still. Although she is now so 
populous that her large towns intersect her like a 
mighty network, there is yet room for isolated 
villages and broad estates, and though she stands 
highest on the pinnacle of science and discovery, 
the charms of her little villages are still intact. 
Railways intersect her like a web, factories pour 
forth their marvellous floods of wealth, mines 
probe deep into her bosom, but the country lanes 
of dear old England wind on just as peacefully 
beneath their arching bows, in these days of steam, 
telegraphs, and bustle, as they did in the times of 
stage coaches, highwaymen, and silence. There is 
a little village where I once lived, that cannot boast 
a single charm of scenery ; its river is a simple 


520 


Marion Howard ; or, 

millstream, its hills and valleys are the gentle 
undulations of the chalk, and yet I know no 
sweeter spot on earth than that, with its peaceful 
cottages, its old gray church and thick, luxuriant 
trees. I do not suppose you ever heard of Enning- 
ton.” 

“ Ennington !” replied the other, with a sudden 
glow of pleasure, “yes, I know it very well.” 

“ Indeed. I was curate there till within the last 
two years.” 

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, Joe Darrell 
could not have looked more utterly confounded. 

“ Is it long since you were there ?” asked the 
other, not remarking his companion’s emotion. 

“No; — yes; — some time since,” replied Joe, 
absently, who was thinking of the Christmas eve 
when he had brought Marion to the Cedars. 

“ Do you know any one living there ?” 

“ No,” replied Joe, who did not feel inclined to 
reckon Mrs. Howard among his acquaintances. 

“ Only a passing visit, I see,” replied the other. 

“Do you?” thought Joe. “Yes,” he added 
aloud, and with some bitterness in his voice ; “ I 
went there on a commission for my sister. It was 
winter time, but I remember I thought.it a very 
pretty little place.” 

He remembered, too, that he had thought very 
little about it, but very much of a flood of golden 
ringlets, swaying in the wind beside him ; and fall- 
ing every minute more deeply into his reminis- 
cences, he walked on in silence. Perhaps his com- 
panion was thinking of golden ringlets, too, for he 


521 


Trials and Triumphs. 

also became silent, and full a quarter of a mile was 
traversed before they again exchanged a syllable. 

As the slanting sunbeam cast the shadow of his 
rival across his very path, Joe Darrell might well 
be silent, for he felt that rival’s power, and if a 
single hope, in spite of all that had come and gone, 
still lingered in his heart, it melted at this moment 
like frostwork before the sun. One glance at the 
calm majestic brow beside him, and he read the 
iron destiny that had separated him for ever from 
the woman of his choice. He was vanquished ; he 
knew it, felt it, but half the pain subsided as he 
gazed upon his rival. If he had become so 
strangely interested in him by one hour’s conver- 
sation on indifferent subjects, what must be the 
devotion of the child’s heart that had ripened into 
womanhood under his influence! For the first 
time he realized what Marion’s sacrifice had been, 
and the halo with which his affection had encircled 
her, grew brighter as he gazed. It was a farewell 
glance, and the last gleam of the sunshine of his 
youth faded that evening, as the sunbeams set on 
Paris. But a strange determination arose in his 
breast, springing phoenix like from the embers of 
his boyish love, and as his companion walked 
on still silently beside him, laying his hand upon 
the crucifix that rested on his heart, Joe Darrell 
made a vow. Not a vow of vengeance, gentle 
reader. Amid the mixed feelings with which he 
stepped on beside his rival, admiration perhaps was 
paramount. Not of misanthropy — Joe Darrell loved 
all men with a deep large love. Not of celibacy for 


522 


Marion Howard ; or, 

Marion’s sake — the possibility of loving another 
never crossed his mind. What, then, was his vow ? 
An echo from the days of chivalry, a faint whisper 
from the desert, and its silent self-devotion. 

“A thousand barriers divide her from me, one 
only separates her from him, and I will strain every 
nerve to tear it down. For God’s sake, for Ma- 
rion’s sake, I will labor for his conversion.” 

Like oil upon the troubled waters of the sea, the 
waves of passion gradually subsided, and while his 
new resolution quivered at his heart, Joe Darrell 
walked on his way, with a kindling eye and smil- 
ing lip, in perfect peace. 

As they passed the barrier with its gilded rails, 
the sun was just sinking below the horizon. 

“ I feel loath to see him go,” said the clergyman, 
“ for on what will he rise to-morrow?” 

Joe looked up inquiringly. 

“What do you think of Parisian Sundays?” 
asked the other. 

“Many things,” replied Joe; “I both like and 
dislike them.” 

“ More than I can say,” answered his companion, 
“ for to me they are positively awful. Were it not 
that I could not conscientiously waste the day 
God has given us for Himself, I would willingly 
sleep it by, and spare myself the grief of witnessing 
such wholesale desecration as Paris will to-morrow 
present. What do you think of the open shops, 
and various occupations going on on all sides?” 

“I think it very wrong.” 

“And what do you think of the theatres and 


5 2 3 


Trials and Triumphs . 

public gardens, sending forth their strains of music 
on this sacred day, syren like, decoying men to 
their destruction ?” 

“ I think them worse still.” 

“And what do you think of the gadding about 
in every direction, of the open Louvre, and other 
places of a similar nature ? Of a party of young 
people positively playing at ball and other games, 
as I saw them last Sunday in the Tuileries garden, 
as I passed through, on my road home from the 
church, in the Rue d’ Aguesseau ?” 

“I think it very right.” 

“You think it very right!” 

“Yes, indeed I do. I think that minds bent for 
six days over mental or manual labor, require a 
little unbending on the seventh. I know that ‘ the 
Sabbath was made for man,’ and I am an advocate 
for rational amusements upon it. Shut up the 
shops, stop work, take away everything that bears 
with it a trace of sin, and I love what remains of 
the sprightliness and gayety of a Sunday in Paris, 
more than I can say. I am quite in my element 
amongst it all.” 

“You are! Then I must say I am greatly dis- 
appointed in you. To me, the universal profana- 
tion is sickening. One might say, that the great 
heart of Paris never beats to one thought of God.” 
“ Many unjust things not only might be said, but 
are said,” replied Joe. 

“ Pardon me, my dear young friend, but this 
would not be unjust. Last Sunday I attended the 
morning service in the Oratoire ; there were a few 


524 


Marion Howard ; or y 


worshippers, certainly, but what are they amongst 
such a population as this ?” 

“ Not much,” replied Joe, smiling, in spite of 
himself. 

“No,” continued the other, “not much, indeed; 
merely a handful of wheat among a weary waste of 
tares ; and the other churches, they tell me, are no 
better attended. One Sunday afternoon I went to 
the Protestant church at Grenelle, and found a 
room that would be discreditable as a school in a 
populous district of England, and such a miserable 
congregation ; I came away truly sick at heart. 
And yet, except these little bands of faithful ones, 
scattered here and there through the length and 
breadth of Paris, the whole mass of this great city 
is steeped in utter supineness.” 

“About what?” asked Joe, opening his eyes. 

“About their immortal souls. Why, where is 
their religion ?” he asked, seeing Joe looked per- 
fectly aghast. 

“ Where is their religion ?” he repeated ; “where 
all religion ought to be, before their minds, on 
their lips, in their hearts. You have seen much in 
Paris, but you seem to have overlooked one item, 
and that is her churches. All day long on Sunday 
these are more or less crowded, and even during 
the week the Masses are well attended. For the 
Catholic religion is no Sunday garment, but is 
worn all days alike, suits all hearts alike, saves all 
souls alike. The work done in Paris on the Sun- 
day is without an excuse, a remnant of Voltaire’s 
handiwork, a relic of the revolution ; but believe 


Trials and Triumphs . 525 

me, there are those who do not sanctify the Sun- 
day less with prayer, and praise and good works, 
because they have brethren who openly profane it. 
Really, you do not understand what this reli- 
gion is ! 

“Yes, I do,” replied the other, bitterly; “ under- 
stand it to my cost; understand it in all the foul- 
ness, blackness, dreadfulness of its deceptions and 
iniquity ! Of all men living, few know Popery 
better than I do, for few men have suffered more 
from her machinations, I am truly sorry to find 
a bright, intelligent young Englishman like you, 
vindicate her. Keep away from her enticements, 
my dear young friend, for, believe me, she is entic- 
ing ! Do not, I charge you, by the living God, let 
the glitter of a few candles lead you astray from 
Him, into the shadow of error, where He is not, 
never has been, and never can come !” He paused, 
and looked at his young companion. 

Joe smiled. “I can well understand, that, think- 
ing as you do, you are surprised at my vindication 
of Catholicism, but, before we go a step further on 
our road, or in our friendship, let me tell you one 
thing. Do not be startled, but, by the grace of 
God, I am what I am, and that is a Catholic.” 

They walked on in silence, broken at length by 
the clergyman. 

“ I am, of course, sorry to hear this ; indeed, I 
am deeply disappointed. One thing, however, as 
we journey on together — will you promise me not 
to shrink from religious conversation ?” 

“ I will, but on one condition.” 


526 


Marion Howard ; or , 


“ What is that ?” 

“That you, on your part, do not inveigh against 
my religion as you did just now, but that you let 
me explain it thoroughly to you, instead.” 

The other hesitated. 

“Are you afraid?” asked Joe, rather mischiev- 
ously. 

“ No ; and I promise to hear all you have to say, 
with as much patience as I can muster. I certainly 
give you full and free permission to make a con- 
vert of me if you can.” 

“That I could never do,” replied Joe; “for con 
versions, like rain, fall down from heaven. But I 
shall pray very hard for you.” 

The other looked strangely at him. So practical 
a religion in a young man of the world, was rather 
new to him. 

“You are a strange mixture,” he observed, look- 
ing up quietly, after a short pause. 

“How so?” asked Joe. 

“In every way. You have the heart of a boy 
with the head of a man, for you convulse me one 
moment with an account of your mad-cap esca- 
pades, and talk the next of giving up the company 
of your fellow-tourists, because they are too fast for 
you. And after revelling in the idea of what I, at 
least, call Sabbath desecration, you speak, not ten 
minutes after, with a solemnity I have rarely seen, 
even in the most serious young persons of your 
age.” 

Joe laughed, and, pointing out the figures on 
the Pont d’ Iena, changed the conversation. 


5^7 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“ To-morrow I will shift my quarters, and come 
over to you,” said Joe, as he shook hands with his 
new friend at the door of his hotel. 

“ Will you not come in and rest ?” 

“ No, thank you, I am expecting some letters of 
importance, that I shall have to answer to-night.” 
“ Do you know that we have not yet exchanged 
cards ?” asked the other. 

Joe wrote his first two names, Joseph Fortescue, 
on a leaf torn from his pocket-book, and received 
in exchange the card of the “ Rev. Henry Lisle.” 
He knew very well what name the little card 
would bear, and yet he almost started as it lay in 
black and white before him. But stifling the rising 
feeling, and laying his hand once more upon his 
crucifix, he pronounced his vow again, and walked 
briskly to his hotel. 




CHAPTER XXVIII. 


(Sly 


cy 


RATHER STIRLING’S surmise had been a 
true one. Cold though she was, Mrs. Howard 
had left Ennington, because it had been too 
much for her. She had loved Marion more 
deeply than anything on earth, except her pride, 
and her cottage home, with its associations, were 
more than she could bear. She had, therefore, 
tried change of scene, and having, as we have 
already seen, let her house, had passed the follow- 
ing year at Clifton. But, irrespectively of the 
annoyance she received from her unprincipled 
tenants, Mrs. Howard soon found that this would 
not do. Too cold to excite interest in strangers, 
too reserved to seek new friends, too indifferent to 
wish to please those with whom chance associated 
her, hers was a lonely life. Her pride, for which 
she had sacrificed the sunshine of her existence, 
she found but a poor substitute for happiness, 
although she hugged it to her heart, intrenching 
herself, every day, more strongly in her determina- 
tion. 

At last, her year of exile having terminated, she 
returned to her own home in the early spring. 
The renovation was hard work, but Dr. Stebbing’s 
recipe of soap and water, applied by Sally’s strong 

528 




Trials and Triumphs . 529 

arms, soon made all things bright, and, before long, 
the white curtains once again shaded the windows, 
the garden was restored, and even Tyrza grew half 
civilized. But it was in vain that Mrs. Howard 
tried to banish once more, among old pursuits and 
familiar faces, the sad thoughts that fresh scenes 
had failed to dispel ; and as she arranged the long- 
neglected rooms, and walked in the garden among 
its spring flowers, she missed the sunny face and 
busy fingers more than ever. 

“And yet, I know that I am acting rightly,” 
ran her frequent reverie ; “ my relations say so, and 
surely, of all living people, my sister Isabel is good. 
I make no profession, but she, at least, is a reli- 
gious woman, (for one hardly ever hears her talk of 
anything else), and she says I have only acted as 
she would have done in my place. I wonder 
where Marion is ; but I feel easy about her, for I 
know, even if she has left the Cedars, Mrs. Darrell 
will keep her eye upon her. Perhaps she has gone 
to her grandmother ; if so, the old lady will be only 
too glad of an opportunity of poisoning her mind 
against me, I know ; but I must make up my mind 
to every kind of misrepresentation now, and re . 
content with the assurance of having done my 
duty.” 

At this moment a sudden gust of wind fluttered 
her cap ribbons far behind her. 

“ I shall catch cold if I stay here any longer,” 
she exclaimed, shivering, and so she passed into the 
house, and wandered slowly from room to room, 

unconsciously seeking some distraction for her 

45 


530 


M avion Howard ; or , 

thoughts. Presently, a letter-rack, Marion’s handi- 
work as a child, caught her eye. 

She unlooped it from the wall, and a rare store 
of bills and papers she turned out, deposited by her 
late tenants, and, to her surprise, at the bottom of 
all, a letter addressed to herself, and bearing the 
date of the previous October. It fell from her 
hands before she had fully perused it, for it was 
Mr. Twidgett’s letter, announcing, in lawyer-like 
style, the death of her mother-in law. 

'‘Dead! Mrs. Howard dead! Impossible !” 

A pang of remorse shot through her heart. She 
felt miserable, wretched, and began to wish that 
she, too, was dead and buried in that quiet corner 
of Ennington churchyard, which her husband had 
chosen for the grave he was destined never to rest 
in. With this thought, too, there came another — 
what would that husband say, from his place of 
unquiet sepulchre beneath the deep waters, could 
he see how his aged mother had been neglected by 
her, whose slightest wish had been his law? Mrs. 
Howard burst into the first flood of tears she had 
shed in all her troubles. Pride, as usual, tried to 
whisper consolation, but in vain, and the haughty 
spirit sobbed on, unchecked in its agony. 

She was only beginning to grow calm, when a 
sharp rap at the door announced a visitor. It was 
answered before she could interfere. 

“Is Mrs. Howard in ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” and Dr. Stebbing was ushered into 
the drawing-room. 

“What a nuisance !” exclaimed the lady, looking 


Trials and Triumphs . 531 

at her reflection in the mirror, with great dissatis- 
faction ; “ how can I go to speak to him, such a 
fright as this ? I must bathe my eyes and see what 
that will do.” 

Notwithstanding her ablutions, however, her 
face bore evident marks of her late emotion, when 
she entered the drawing-room, and could she have 
known it, somewhat raised her in the estimation of 
her visitor. He began to think there was even yet 
a healthy spot in the warped and contracted heart, 
and his greeting was consequently a shade or two 
warmer than it would otherwise have been. 

“ I should have called on you before,” he re- 
marked, after the usual salutations; “but both Mrs. 
Stebbing and myself concluded that you would not 
care to receive visitors during the first week or two 
of your return.” 

“Well, I really have been very busy,” she re- 
plied, “ for the house was in a dreadful condition.” 
“ So we could see from the outside.” 

“Nothing would induce me to try the experiment 
of letting it in a similar way again, although I 
might be more fortunate another time, for I appear 
to have come in contact with unusually disagree- 
able people. I have just discovered that they did 
not even trouble themselves to forward me a letter 
that arrived last autumn, for I have, this afternoon, 
found it at the bottom of an old card-rack. Unfor- 
tunately, too, the letter was both important and 
painful, for it was one announcing the death of my 
mother-in-law, from her lawyer in London. It has 
given me a severe shock.” 


532 Marion Howard ; or, 

“ You did not know it, then, until to-day ?” 

“ Of course not ; there was no chance of my 
doing so. This lawyer was the only one connected 
with Mrs. Howard who knew my address; perhaps, 
even of my very existence ; for, with the exception 
of Marion and her half-brother in India, the poor 
old lady was the last of her family. I wonder what 
has become of her little property. Her annuity, 
of course, ceased with her, but she has many valu- 
able family heirlooms, and, wrong as Marion has 
been, I should like her to have what has been left to 
her in the will, if only for the sake of keeping them 
in my poor husband’s family. Edward, too, ought 
to have been written to, though,” she added, striv- 
ing to appear indifferent; “I do not see why I 
should trouble my head about it.” 

“ Especially as everything was arranged long 
ago by Major Howard,” replied the doctor. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking at 
him in blank astonishment. 

“ Simply this, my dear madam, that the property 
of the deceased lady is already in possession of the 
rightful heirs, who have not long since transferred 
it from Islington to Streatham, where they are now 
residing.” 

“ The rightful heirs ! I do not understand you ; 
there are, I know, no nearer claimants to Mrs. How- 
ard’s property than Marion and her brother.” 
“Who are the persons named in that lady’s will, 
and who are precisely the people in possession of 
her effects at Streatham.” 

Mrs. Howard began to think of cases when 


Trials and Triumphs . 


533 


hereditary madness had broken out suddenly, but 
the doctor had never looked more sane in his life. 

“ In plain words, my dear madam,” he exclaimed, 
do you know where your daughter is?” 

“No, Doctor Stebbing, I do not; though I 
should think, most probably, with her friends at 
Harleyford, if one can apply the term to those who 
have so wretchedly misguided her.” 

“You are mistaken,” replied the doctor; “she is 
not there, but, after having gone through many 
troubles, she has found a haven of refuge in this 
very brother Edward. He has taken a house in 
Streatham, and she is with him. And now, I sup- 
pose, you are wondering where I have gleaned all 
my information, and so I must tell you what hap- 
pened in this quiet little village of Ennington, 
about the end of last October. I was one after- 
noon walking slowly home from the schools to 
dinner, when I saw this very house door closed 
most unceremoniously upon a gentleman, who had 
evidently been making some inquiries. You are 
perhaps aware, Mrs. Howard, that though curiosity 
certainly had its birth in Mother Eve, it has not by 
any means been thenceforth confined to her sex ; 
and as I had seen this gentleman alight from the 
coach a few minutes before, and had been some- 
what struck by his appearance, I was, I must say, a 
little curious about him. I certainly did not feel 
less so, when I saw him stand melancholy and per- 
plexed, looking up and down the street, with the 
evening fast closing in. I was quite gratified when 

I saw that he had made up his mind to speak to 

45 * 


534 


Marion Howard ; or , 

me, and you may imagine my surprise, when after 
very few preliminaries, he told me that he was 
Edward Howard. He said he had only just 
arrived from India, to find his grandmother dead, 
and you and his sister gone he knew not whither; 
for Miss Smith informed him that she had burned 
your address, and did not remember it. Poor fel- 
low, I never saw such a picture of despair, till I 
invited him home with me to dinner, and pro- 
mised to tell him all I knew of his sweet little 
sister/’ 

Mrs. Howard frowned. 

“ O, I can tell you, I did not spare you,” con- 
tinued the old gentleman, smiling kindly, and 
polishing his bald forehead. “Whatever my friend 
Lisle may have said to the matter, my opinion 
has been unchanged throughout the whole affair. 
You have done wrong, and acted very harshly. 
Marion has been misled; but I cannot see that she 
has committed a fault, for she has only exercised 
the proudest boast of our Church, that is to say, 
the right of private judgment. Having been 
biassed by stronger minds than her own, she may 
have erred in this judgment, but I have not a 
single doubt, that a little judicious management 
would have eradicated the error in a very short 
time. Why, even upon Lisle’s own admission, she 
was slightly touched some five or six years ago, 
see how she came around then. But you have 
defeated your own end, for I sadly fear Marion 
Howard will never return to us now, and I do 
not speak without a foundation for my words. 


535 


Trials and Triumphs . 

But, I suppose, you are thinking that all this 
is very impertinent, and has nothing to do with 
my story.” 

Mrs. Howard smiled in spite of herself. 

“ The Major stayed all night with us,” continued 
the doctor, “and I procured Mrs. Darrell’s address 
for him from the old Catholic cobbler here, for 
he refused to write to you, or hold any com- 
munication with you, on the subject of his sister.” 

“ So much the better,” interrupted his auditor. 

“ Well, whether for better or worse, so it was. 
The next morning he took a post-chaise to 
Harleyford, and I never saw nor heard anything 
more of him until about a week before Christmas, 
when he suddenly made his appearance. He then 
told me that he had been taken seriously ill at 
Harleyford, that he had been, in fact, almost at 
death’s door, that he owed his recovery in a great 
measure to the kindness of Mr. Darrell’s family, 
and to the Catholic priest of the place, and that 
he was then on the point of starting for Paris, to 
bri ng his sister.” 

“To Paris! You do not mean to say that 
Marion has been living in Paris?” 

“ That she most certainly has,” replied the 
rector; “for her brother says, she could not be 
induced to remain either at the Cedars, or with 
her grandmother, and so she took a situation in a 
French school as English teacher, where she 
remained until last Christmas. But I wonder 
Mr. Lisle has not told you this, for the last time 
I saw your step-son, lie told me that while in 


536 


Alar ion Howard ; or , 


London, Marion had become acquainted with his 
sister, Mrs. Gordon, who is now, however, in the 
Bermudas for her health.” 

“ How strange, that Mrs. Gordon should never 
have mentioned this to her brother ; though now I 
remember, she wrote rather decidedly to him about 
his angry feeling with regard to Marion, remark- 
ably so, I thought, for one who had not seen her 
brother for years, and who was, as I supposed, 
a total stranger to the young lady in question. 
May I ask when you last saw Edward ?” 

“ The very day you did.” 

“ I do not understand you,” replied Mrs. How- 
ard. 

“You remember the flying visit you paid to 
Ennington, about a month since, when your friends 
did not even know you had been, till you had 
again taken wing?” 

“Yes; I only remained two hours here, and 
that was spent in talking to my tenants to no 
purpose, and then I returned by the evening coach 
to London-.” 

“ Do you remember who were your companions, 
coming up ?” 

“ Let me see. Old Grimble, and Mrs. Greaves, 

the butcher’s wife. I do not remember anv one 

* 

else: stay — yes, there was a gentleman also, quite 
a stranger to me.” 

“ Who was no other than Edward Howard; he 
stayed all night with me before going on to Harley- 
ford, whither he was bound. I never knew that 
you had been travelling companions, until 1 heard 


537 


Trials and Triumphs . 

quite by chance of your angel visit to Ennington, 
when I remembered Major Howard speaking of a 
lady, who had alighted in our village, ‘ the best 
read woman he had ever met.’ I only wish I had 
known it was you, I would soon have enlightened 
him.” 

Mrs. Howard remained silent with astonishment. 
She now remembered perfectly well the dark-eyed 
gentlemanly stranger, whose manners and appear- 
ance had greatly prepossessed her, and the little 
piece of admiration so naturally expressed by 
Edward, and so neatly thrown in by the rector, 
was not without its effect. She began to think her 
step-son might turn out a much more agreeable 
person than she had ever imagined such an appen- 
dage could possibly be. 

“ He told me of a strange piece of business, in a 
note I had from him a few days after his return to 
London, after that very visit here.” 

“ Indeed !” 

“Yes, it seems that during his week’s stay at 
Harleyford he was received into the Catholic 
Church. I have written him a long letter on the 
subject, though with a very vain hope of it in any 
way influencing him, for he seems very earnest in 
the step he has taken. This is why I said just now, 
I fear Miss Howard will never change again ; this 
conversion will, of course, help to intrench her in 
her new opinions.” 

Mrs. Howard made no reply, and the kind- 
hearted rector seized the opportunity of her silence, 
and tried once again his powers of eloquence, to 


5j8 


Marion Howard . 


induce her to relent in favor of her child. Finding, 
however, that his arguments produced no effect, 
although Mrs. Howard seemed too much stunned 
to attempt to combat them, he rose to take his 
leave. 

“One thing I have to ask of you,” said the lady, 
as she wished him good-by, “and that is, that you 
will not mention to Edward Howard that he and I 
have already met.” 

“ Certainly not, if you do not wish me to do so,” 
replied the clergyman, “but I am quite disap- 
pointed. I should have liked to enlighten him on 
the subject of his fellow-traveller.” 

“ But you must not do so, if you please, for I do 
not wish to be brought before him and Marion in 
any way. She wishes to forget me — let her do 
so!” 

“My dear madam,” cried Dr. Stebbing, “how 
mistaken you are ! her brother tells me that he 
believes she pines for you day and night!” 

“ Let her come back to me then,” replied the 
mother; “the conditions are not hard!” 

No, Mrs. Howard, not hard, but simply impossi- 
ble ! Dr. Stebbing did not say this though, dear 
reader, for he did not think so. Fie only took up 
his hat and Malacca cane, and, with a courteous 
adieu, walked briskly home to his wife, who was 
waiting dinner. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 



/jj^HE snowdrops and crocuses had faded away 
in the cottage garden in Ennington, and 
again the summer roses were blooming red 
and bright in their stead. Once more the 
new-mown hay perfumed the meadow-lands, once 
more the haymaker’s song mingled with the 
murmur of the mill-stream and the droning of the 
mill, and once again the bees, birds, and butterflies 
were winging their way through the golden sun- 


shine. 

Bright, however, as were the summer days, they 
were little heeded by Mrs. Howard. Like Ezech- 
ias, she had “turned her face to the wall,” as the 
shadow of death fell on her soul, and in untold 
bitterness of heart she gazed into his face and 
trembled. She was very ill, very lonely, very deso- 
late, for Dr. Stebbing and his little wife, who 
would have tended her so kindly, were away on 
their summer trip. Even little Miss Leicester 
would have been useful now, but she was in Bath, 
dancing attendance on an aged aunt, who ought to 
have died, for the benefit of her nephews and 
nieces, at least ten years before. There was no 
one left in Ennington but the new curate, and he 
was so awkward and boyish, that the very thou gin 



540 


Marion Howard ; or , 

of him fretted the invalid. And so the days 
dragged on; old Mr. Bernard her only visitor, and 
Sally, nurse and sole companion. 

For a long time she had been lying very still, 
planning ways in which the pattern of her curtains 
might have been better joined, and Sally, who had 
mistaken her silence for sleep, was rather startled 
when her mistress exclaimed abruptly, “ I wish 
you could write, Sally.” 

“ Laws, ma’am, so do I.” 

“ Just give me my desk, and I will try and write 
a few words to Mrs. Dampier myself. I cannot 
bear this isolation any longer. It is killing me.” 
The desk was brought, but the pen was. hardly 
between her fingers, before the invalid sank back 
exhausted. 

“ There ! take it away,” she said, faintly, “ I 
must get Mr. Bernard to write for me.” 

And yet before that gentleman arrived, the plan 
had been discarded, as the vision of her prim 
serious sister floated before her mind. “ She 
would only worry me, and make me more melan- 
choly still,” was her conclusion, “and I should 
shock her if I did not let Mr. Mason visit me 
every day, though I really think I will send for 
him to-morrow, if Dr. Bernard says I am no better; 
but I know I shall not like him,” she added, petu- 
lantly, shedding tears in her weakness. 

The next day found her even worse, and Sally 
was despatched for Mr. Mason, for though Mrs. 
Howard did not exactly imagine herself in danger, 
a strange unwonted gloominess made her long for 


Trials and Triumphs . 


54i 


spiritual consolation, and brought the thought of 
Henry Lisle many times before her. 

Mr. Mason was a quiet, gentle, meek young 
man, whose want of firmness and energy was fast 
letting everything in the parish, that was under his 
immediate care, go wrong. He walked into the 
invalid’s room, looking very warm, and feeling 
very uncomfortable, for this was his first curacy. 
His ministrations were precisely such as might 
have been expected. Weakly and timidly he 
talked of resignation, and stammered out some- 
thing about repentance, heaven, and the judgment 
to come ; but though she listened like Felix, 
unlike him Mrs. Howard did not tremble, but in 
her untamed pride, only blushed to think that such 
a spirit as hers should have sought consolation 
from such a mind as his. In about ten minutes he 
left the house, never to return, and Mrs. Howard, 
closing her eyes, lay still, and brooded once more 
over the dull mental pain, that his visit had by no 
means helped to allay. 

When Mr. Bernard made his call the following 
day, he shook his head. No wonder. Was his 
patient likely to improve, while the very thoughts 
that had laid her low, still hovered around her like 
spectres ? She was very much worse, and poor 
Sally, her patient nurse, looked white and wearied 
with watching. 

“ Go to bed just to-night, Sally,” said Mrs. How- 
ard, in a tone she had never from her childhood 
used before to a servant. “ Go to bed, and let 
little Polly come and stay with me,” 

46 


542 Marion Howard ; or , 

“ No, thank you, ma’am, I would rather be 
here,” and in two minutes the country girl was 
stretched on her mattress by her mistress’s bed. 
And now as through the silent watches of the 
night she lay restlessly awake, listening to the 
breathing of her weary nurse, Mrs. Howard 
thou ght, as she had never done before — thou ght 
of her life as it was lying that night, written word 
after word in the solemn Book of God — not a 
syllable blotted out of the handwriting against 
her. For though in the village church she had 
bowed her head with others at the general confes- 
sion, where had been her repentance ? — though she 
had said with the rest of the congregation, “ I 
believe in God,” where had been her faith ? As 
though a veil had been withdrawn, the utter weak- 
ness of her cause in the sight of God lay plainly 
before her now, and she shuddered as she thought 
of death. 

“ Not yet! not yet!” she cried. “ O ! my God, 
give me time for repentance, time to live to know 
Thee, time to learn to welcome death, as they tell 
me Christians welcome it for Thy sake.” 

Sally was fairly puzzled when she arranged her 
mistress early in the morning, for she could not 
determine whether she was better or worse. The 
old doctor himself looked almost equally non- 
plussed, and shook his head more vigorously than 
ever, all the way home. 

“ Sally,” said Mrs. Howard, after his departure, 
“ I should very much like to have some one in to 
help you.” 


543 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“There is no need,” said Sally, half hurt. 

“Yes, but indeed there is. You will be getting 
ill too, and I do not know how Polly would manage 
with both of us on her hands at once.” 

“I feel all right as yet,” said Sally, “and I’m 
sure there’s no one about here, as you’d like to 
have with you.” 

“No, therefore I shall have to send to London 
for a nurse.” 

“Just as you like, ma’am,” replied Sally, crossly, 
“I only know I am very well as we are.” 

“ I want somebody to go to Harleyford for me 
to-day, how could it be managed ?” 

“Very well, if Polly could mind you; because I 
could go myself.” 

“You! Why how would you get there?” 
“Walk.” 

“What, all the way?” 

“To be sure. Unless somebody passed in a 
shay, and would give me a lift.” 

“ I could not think of such a thing !” 

“ Do you think you could manage for a few 
hours with Polly, ma’am ? that’s the question.” 
“Yes, very well indeed; but you must not go, 
you are not strong enough to walk to Harleyford 
in such weather as this, to say nothing of getting 
back again.” 

“ I shall try,” said Sally, grinning, and marching 
out of the room. 

It is very pleasant to drive or ride through 
country lanes on a warm summer day, but vastly 
different to toil through them on foot for nine 


544 


Marion Howard ; or, 


long, weary, dusty miles. By the time poor Sally, 
with aching feet and glowing face, had arrived 
within a mile of Harleyford, she felt very much 
exhausted, and her stout heart began to consider 
in some dismay, how the journey back again was 
to be accomplished. She, however, plodded reso- 
lutely on, and at length, by dint of much inquiry, 
found herself before the presbytery door, and a 
few minutes later, for the first time in her life, 
actually in the presence of a real, live Roman 
Catholic priest. 

“ Well, and what can I do for you, my child ?” 
asked Father Stirling, kindly, as Martha ushered 
her into the study. “You are a stranger, I see. 
Sit down — not in that draught though,” he added, 
rising, and placing a chair on the other side of the 
window. “ There, that will do. Are you a Catho- 
lic ?” he asked, as he resumed his seat. 

“ Laws, no, sir !” cried Sally, startled altogether 
out of her propriety. “ I never even heard of such 
a thing till lately.” 

Father Stirling laughed. “ I see — I beg your 
pardon. Go on.' 

“ My mistress told me to tell you,” answered 
Sally, who felt rather confounded, “ that she would 
have written if she thought I could not make you 
understand, sir. She would like to see you — that 
is, if it’s convenient.” 

Father Stirling looked somewhat perplexed. 
“ Stop a minute, my child, and take your time, 
for I cannot make much out of that. Where do 
you come from?” 


545 


Trials and Triumphs. 

— — 

“From Ennington, sir.” 

“From Ennington! How did you get here?” 
“ I walked, sir.” 

“Why, you must be half dead. Who is your 
mistress ?” 

“ Mrs. Howard.” 

“ Who ?” exclaimed the priest, who began to 
think he had fallen asleep over his office, and was 
still dreaming. 

Sally repeated the name. 

“ Tell me again what she has sent you for.” 
“To ask you to go and see her, if you possibly 
can. She is very ill, indeed, sir. Mr. Mason, the 
minister, had to be brought yesterday, so you may 
think she’s pretty bad. She tried very hard to 
write, but she almost fainted over the note, so she 
said you must excuse a message instead.” 

“To be sure, to be sure. Yes, I will come 
directly. What is her illness, do you know?” 

“ She caught cold, sir, and wouldn’t nurse 
herself, all as ever I could do. But I think it’s 
more because she worrits herself so. She has 
never been the same since — ” 

“ Since when ?” 

“ Well, I don’t know that it’s manners to say 
anything about it to you, sir, but she’s never 
been the same since Miss Marion went and turned.” 
“ I suppose not,” said the priest, half to himself. 
“ No, indeed, she has not, and no wonder. I’m 
a quietish sort of girl, and I say very little to any- 
body, but I have my feelings, sir, and I find the 

house awful dull without her.” 

46 * 


546 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ Have you lived long with Mrs. Howard?” 

“ Eight years, sir. Miss Marion was a little 
girl when I first came to Ennington, and seeing 
her grow up, as one may say, before my very 
eyes, it was no wonder as I missed her when 
she didn’t come back. But it wasn’t any business 
of mine, and this is the first word I have ever said 
about it, and I shouldn’t now, only I want you to 
do good to my poor missus. But please, sir, 
don’t—” 

“ Don’t what?” 

“ Why, sir, don’t make her a Papisher too !” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Because — because it seems so dreadful to do 
the things they do !” 

'‘Does it?” asked Father Stirling, looking very 
much amused, and rising to ring the bell. “ Now 
my, child, I will tell you how we will manage. 
You shall go with Martha into the kitchen and get 
some dinner, and then I will drive you back. Just 
send me in a crust of bread and cheese,” he added, 
turning to the housekeeper; "let some one run 
over to Mr. Jackson, and ask him to let me have 
the gig; and be as quick as you can in everything, 
for this is a sick call, and I am in a hurry.” 
Sally felt very thankful as she sped over the 
miles between Harlevford and Ennington in the 
old-fashioned gig, even though her companion was 
a priest, and the end of her mission to bring him 
to the bedside of her sick mistress. Now that she 
had a little leisure to think, she was on the point 
of commencing a few speculations on the curious 


547 


Trials and Triumphs. 

turn events seemed to be taking, when her cogita- 
tions were cut short by Father Stirling himself. 

“ And so,” he exclaimed suddenly, “ Catholics do 
such dreadful things, do they ?” 

Sally hung down her head, but at the same time 
smiled an affirmative. 

“ And what do you think is the worst thing they 
do?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” she replied, hesitating; 
“worship idols, I should think.” 

“You never mean to say you believe Catholics 
do that, my good girl !” cried the priest, almost 
letting the reins fall in his surprise. 

“Yes, sir, I thought they did! Of course there 
was a bit of a stir in the place when it got out that 
Miss Marion had gone and turned, and I asked 
Farmer Grimble what Catholics did, that was so 
dreadful, and he told me that they worshipped 
idols, confessed all the sins they had ever com- 
mitted, or were going to commit, to a priest, and 
that they starved themselves sometimes almost to 
death, because then they thought they were sure to 
get to heaven.” 

“And you thought this rather a peculiar creed, I 
suppose ! No wonder.” 

“What, sir?” 

“You thought these were curious things to 
believe ?” 

“ To be sure I did,” replied Sally, smiling. 

“Well, child, very little of all that Farmer 
Grimble told you is true ; he is quite mistaken, 
poor man. We neither worship idols, starve our- 


548 Marion Howard ; or, 

selves, nor confess the sins we are going to com- 
mit; all this is sheer nonsense! But we certainly 
confess the sins we have committed, and feel very 
happy afterwards. You would not like to have to 
do that, I suppose ?” 

“ Laws, no sir ! I shouldn’t know which end to 
begin at.” 

The priest smiled kindly, and whistled on his 
horse. 

“ Why,” continued his little companion, “ the 
Bible says, ‘ Our sins are more in number than the 
hairs of our head,’ and how could I ever recollect 
them ?” 

Father Stirling replied by explaining in a few 
simple words the true doctrine of the Church, and 
though very far from convincing her of the authen- 
ticity of his religion, her last remark, as she sprang 
from the gig at her mistress’ door, was to the effect, 
that, the very next time she saw Farmer Grimble, 
she would tell him to look before he leaped, and 
not to talk of things he didn’t understand. “And 
yet I always thought, somehow, Miss Marion 
couldn’t have come to worship idols, that I did !” 

It was with mingled emotions that the priest 
entered the chamber of the invalid, and certainly, 
among them all, surprise was not the least promi- 
nent, for had the Reverend Adolphus Gardiner 
offered him the hand of fellowship, he could not 
have been more astounded than at Mrs. Howard’s 
message. He found her propped up with pillows, 
very weak and careworn, though lighted up as 
her face now was, by a flush of expectation, and by 


Trials and Triumphs . 


549 


the strange bright look it had worn all day, there 
was that in her appearance that wonderfully inter- 
ested him. 

Sally having placed a chair for the priest, and 
withdrawn, silence ensued, for a few moments 
broken at length by the lady. 

“ I hardly know how to apologize, Mr. Stirling, 
for bringing you all these miles, but I have a very 
particular question to ask you. I could not write 
it, for I am so very weak, and somehow — ” here 
her voice failed, “ I could not bring my mind to let 
my servant ask it.” 

“And there was no occasion for her to do so! 
Rest assured, my dear madam, that the drive of 
to-day has been only a pleasant excursion. Priests, 
like doctors, are accustomed to sick calls, and I 
have walked miles in the dead of the nicdit, before 
this.” 

“But this can hardly be considered a 'sick 
call/” replied Mrs. Howard, “for I will be candid, 
and tell you at once, that I am as firm a Protest- 
ant as ever. I do not want to see you profes- 
sionally.” 

He rather winced at the term, but only bowed in 
reply. 

“You will be astonished at my question, I 
know,” continued the lady, “ but I lay awake all 
last night, and determined to ask it, for I do not 
think I shall ever get well again.” 

“ We must hope for the best,” replied the priest, 
soothingly. “ I see no reason why you should not. 
This very warm weather is against you now ; when 


55 ° 


Clarion Howard. ; or , 

ft 

■*--« 

it passes you will have a better chance of recover- 
ing your strength. You seem to me very low, 
does your medical man permit you to receive 
visitors ?” • 

“ I have never asked him,” replied the invalid, 
smiling, “ for the simple reason that I have no one 
to visit me. I have only three or four friends resid- 
ing here, and during the whole of my illness they 
have been from home. I have seen no one all the 
time but Mr. Bernard, my doctor, and Mr. Mason, 
the curate, once.” 

“ Only once !” 

“ Yes, and that was yesterday; but I found him 
so thoroughly uninteresting that I could do no- 
thing with him. I did not ask him to call again. 
An overgrown school-boy, and nothing else !” 

Father Stirling looked very grave. “And have 
you no one else to offer you spiritual consolation in 
this weary illness ?” 

“No one; I must wait until Dr. Stebbing comes 
back.” 

“ Suppose you died meanwhile,” was on the tip of 
Father Stirling's tongue, but he only shook his 
head. “And what is the question ?” he asked, after 
a long pause. 

Mrs. Howard shaded her face with her thin white 
hand, and remained silent. It was pride’s last 
struggle, and Father Stirling watched her with 
rather a puzzled expression of countenance. But 
the hand was at last withdrawn — “ Will you tell me 
where to find my child ?” 

“Will I give you Miss Howard’s address?” he 


Trials and Triumphs . 


55i 


replied slowly, striving to seem unmoved, “well, I 
really cannot remember it at this moment, but I 
can get it for you very easily. I expect, however, 
that she will be at the Cedars before long. All 
Mr. Darrell’s family are in London just at present, 
for one of their two daughters is to take the veil 
next week, and I understand that Miss Howard is 
to return with Edith Darrell, a few days after the 
ceremony. I suppose, therefore, she will be in 
Harleyford in about a fortnight’s time.” 

“ Is she much attached to Emily Darrell, do you 
think ?” 

“Very much so, they are like own sisters.” 

“And I suppose she will be present at the cere- 
mony ?” 

“ Undoubtedly, seeing that the little nun-elect is 
at this moment visiting her.” 

“ What a dreadful thing for a young girl to shut 
herself up in that way, just like a bird in a cage! 
What will she have to do? Visit poor people?” 

“No; the order Miss Darrell is entering, is what 
we call an enclosed one ; they never go out at all, 
but lead lives of prayer and meditation. It is a 
very strict, but, at the same time, a most beautiful 
order.” 

Mrs. Howard looked uneasily at him. 

“ Will you answer me one question candidly ?” 
she asked. 

“ If I can.” 

“ Do you think my Marion is likely to follow 
her example ?” 

“ Not in the least likely, I should say,” replied 


552 


Marion Howard ; or, 


the priest, laughing ; “ so make your mind quite 
easy on that score. I have never seen the smallest 
shadow of a vocation in her.” 

“ I am so relieved,” replied Mrs. Howard, burst- 
ing into tears; “for now I have set my mind on 
having her with me once again, it would break my 
heart to lose her so. My poor, dear child !” 

Was ever woman so altered ? As Father Stir- 
ling compared her with all the descriptions he had 
heard, and all the mental pictures he had formed 
of her, he made quite a meditation on the grace of 
God. 

“There is one thing I cannot help wishing very 
much,” observed the invalid, after a long silence. 
“What is that?” 

“ That you were a Protestant clergyman.” 

“ I am afraid I can hardly say amen to that,” 
replied Father Stirling, smiling; “but may I ask 
why ?” 

“ Because I should like to talk to you.” 
“Excuse me, but cannot you do so now?” 

“ What use would there be in doing so, when we 
believe such different things?” 

“No, no,” replied the priest; “you are mistaken, 
we have many points of belief in common ; for 
although you stop short of my creed, I believe all 
that you do.” 

“Hardly, I think,” replied the lady, “for I believe 
the Catholic religion is contrary to common sense.” 
“And yet you say every Sunday, ‘ I believe in 
the Holy Catholic Church.’ Come, my dear ma- 
dam, is there not some little discrepancy here ?” 


! Trials and Triumphs . 


553 


Mrs. Howard smiled. “ I know very little of 
controversy, but I presume what I mean by the 
Catholic Church is one thing, what you mean, 
another. To have spoken as an orthodox Protes- 
tant, I suppose I ought to have said, that the 
Roman Catholic Church is opposed to common 
sense.” 

“ The two titles have precisely the same mean- 
ing, my dear Mrs. Howard ; but may I ask what 
particular doctrine or doctrines, of our Church, you 
find so faulty ?” 

“ I was afraid you were going to ask me that 
question, and I do not very well know how to 
answer it. I have my own ideas, generally, both 
on your religion and ours, but I will be candid 
with you, and tell you at once, that though, as one 
of its members, I prefer the latter; I have thought 
very little indeed about either one or the other.” 

Father Stirling looked at her very compassion- 
ately, and a prayer rose from the very bottom of 
his heart. He thought of Elias and the Sunamite’s 
son in the days of old, and prayed, like him, that 
the dead might be brought to life. 

“ I wish it had not been so,” she continued, “fc 7 
those who live as I have never lived, would be hap- 
pier here than I am now. It would be strange for 
you to hear a Protestant confession, and yet I feel 
as if I could almost make you one this after- 
noon.” 

“ I shall be very happy to hear anything you like 
to tell me,” replied the priest, u and to offer you 

any advice or consolation in my power.” 

47 


554 


Marion Howard ; or, 


“ I have nothing very much to say,” returned 
the invalid, in the same sad tone; “but all last 
night I lay awake thinking and thinking, and it 
almost seemed as if God held the past up before 
me, and asked me what I thought of it. It was 
not a bright picture, but I looked at it very steadily. 
Mr. Stirling, I have been very wicked, very harsh, 
and you, as well as I, know io what I have sinned.” 
“You mean in the matter of poor Marion?” 
“Yes, I do; and it is a sin too, that let me do 
what I will, I can never atone for; I only wish I 
could — I only wish I could.” 

“ But you acted upon principle in your severity, 
did you not?” asked the priest. “You believed 
her to be in error, and tried to drive her back to 
what you thought, and still think, to be the truth.” 
“ No, I did not. If I had had any thought of 
this kind with regard to her, I should not feel as I 
do now. It was very different. I was angry with 
Marion for three reasons, first, because she dared 
to act independently of me; secondly, because of 
the ridicule and contempt with which I thought 
so strange a step w r ould be visited ; and thirdly, 
because a certain bright future I had pictured for 
her was dispelled by her own perversity. I had 
had a vision of her, as the mistress of a home all I 
could desire, and moving in a circle I knew she 
was fitted to adorn, and I almost felt to hate her in 
my disappointment. But, as to whether the change 
she had made was pleasing or displeasing to God, 
on this view of the subject I never bestowed one 
single thought. But this is not surprising, for, 


Trials and Triumphs . 


555 


during a life of nearly fifty years, I have never 
thought of Him at all till now.” 

“And now?” asked the priest, bending on her 
the full force of his calm gray eyes. 

“ I will try. If ever I arise from this bed, it shall 
be to exclaim, like the prodigal, ‘ I have sinned 
against heaven, and before Thee.’ ” 

“ You have said it already, for you see the errors 
of your past life, and are ready, by the grace of God, 
to do your best to amend them.” 

There was long silence, as each followed a train 
of tho ught too deep for words, but it was broken at 
length by the sick woman. 

“ I do so wish still that you were a Protestant ! ” 
“And again I ask, why? Do you think that 
Catholics cannot sympathize with the sorrows of 
those wlio are not Catholics? Believe me, I feel 
deeply for you in this first moment of your awaken- 
ing to the thought of God. Your trials have been 
great; but should they even be greater, you have 
only to place them in His hands ‘who carried our 
griefs, and bore our infirmities/ ” 

“You speak of Christ,” replied the invalid. 
“ Mr. Stirling, my confession is only half complete, 
though at what I am about to say, you will, I know, 
be deeply shocked. Christian, as all have thought 
me, I am not one in heart. For years I have 
secretly doubted revealed religion. All seems a 
mist unworthy of God. I am not a sceptic, I am 
not a deist, still less am I an atheist, and I should 
wish to be a Christian ; but, in the depths of my 
heart, I do not believe ! I am speaking to you 


556 


Marion Howard ; or> 

now, words that never before have I dared to whis- 
per to myself, for, as society is constituted, the 
woman who should frame such a sentiment into 
speech, would be looked upon as almost less than 
woman.” 

“ Simply because she was more candid than so 
many of her fellows ! Dear Mrs. Howard, is not 
this the belief, or rather, unbelief, of half the women 
of fashion around us ? Alas ! for the inconsistency 
of the world. She who says in words, ' I am not a 
Christian,’ is barely respectable ; she who in her 
actions says, ‘ I am,’ is laughed at for a fool.” He 
paused for a few minutes, and then continued: “It 
may appear rather strange, perhaps, at first sight, 
and yet it is perfectly true, that the disbeliever in 
revealed religion is actually more credulous than 
the Christian, taunted though the latter has often 
been with his credulity. For the sceptic, in refus- 
ing to allow that the truths of Christianity have 
. been revealed to the world by God, attributes to 
the invention of man, doctrines that are entirely 
above his understanding. He makes him also the 
author of a religious system which, in spite of the 
bitter and active hostility of all that is most power- 
ful in the world, and notwithstanding the restraint 
which it places upon his natural inclinations, has 
been embraced in every age and in every region. 

“ Nor is he less credulous with regard to prophe- 
cies, for it is admitted by all that events which have 
undoubtedly taken place had as undoubtedly been 
foretold hundreds of years before. The Birth of 
Christ in Bethlehem, the leading circumstances of 


557 


Trials and Triumphs. 

■ 

His Life, Passion, Death, and Burial ; the destruc- 
tion of Jerusalem ; the scattering of the Jews, were 
all foretold long before they happened. They stand 
predicted in the pages of Holy Scripture ; that 
they have occurred, is universally maintained. Sup- 
pose, then, I ask a sceptic how this can be, and he 
answers me, ‘ By chance does it not seem to you 
that the man who can believe in such a chance, or 
rather such a chain of chances as this, evinces 
more credulity than one who looks on the prophe- 
cies and their fulfilment as the direct work of 
God?” 

“ Yes; but then, one who believes in God as the 
Beneficent Father of the universe, cannot, at the 
same time, believe in chance. It seems to me only 
a disrespectful term for God’s Providence.” 

“ Exactly so, and yet this is one of the only three 
natural ways in which the exact accordance of 
scriptural prophecy with historical fact can be ac- 
counted for. Let us suppose, then, that he gives 
the second answer, and tells us that ‘these his- 
torical events were planned to suit the prophecies, 
and fulfil them/ Why this would evince a credu- 
lity of mind more astonishing still. Just imagine. 
The whole life of a man had to be planned from 
his cradle to his grave ; a city had to be encom- 
passed, taken, and annihilated; a powerful people 
had to be scattered over the whole earth, and yet 
to be kept distinct from every other nation on its 
surface till the end of the world ! And all this for 
no earthly purpose, but to fulfil a few texts. What 

would you think of this answer ?” 

47 * 


55B Marion Howard ; or> 

“ That a man who could think it any solution of 
the question, must be mad.” 

“ Well, I do not think you will find the remain- 
ing answer any more sensible. Our sceptical friend, 
then, w r ould inform you in the third place, that the 
prophecies, w r hich he w r ould triumphantly show, 
are seldom consecutive, but are found scattered 
here and there throughout the Sacred Writings, 
have evidently been dropped in after the events, 
to give authority to a newly-fledged Christianity. 
This at first sight, my dear Mrs. How r ard, seems, 
perhaps, a more sensible answer ; and yet the man 
who could give it, would be quite as credulous as 
one who should take shelter in either of the other 
replies. For how can it be supposed that the 
Jews, with their malicious hatred of Christianity, 
would have silently permitted additions to the 
sacred books, and especially the interpolation of 
passages which should support the abolition of 
the Mosaic dispensation ? And even supposing 
the alterations to have been effected, v r ould they 
have tamely suffered the destruction of every copy 
of the original version ?” 

“ One would hardly think so.” 

Again there was silence, broken at length by 
the invalid. “ I am very glad I spoke to you 
of this,” she observed, in a low voice ; “ I shall 
think over what you have said very deeply, and 
God will help me to believe, for I do not want to 
doubt any longer. But will you do one thing 
more — teach me something of this Christianity 
of which I have hitherto been so strangely igno- 


559 


Trials and 7 riumphs. 

rant? You will do so as a Catholic, I know, 
of course; but, be that as it may, it makes no 
difference, for I must and will know who, and 
what Christ is.” 

He had commenced to speak to her when the 
sun was shining brightly, he did not cease until 
that sun was sinking in the western sky. He did 
as she asked him, he spoke to her of Christ. He 
began at the beginning of the story of Redemption, 
when the first man and woman were rejoicing amid 
the glories of the new creation, while the echoes 
of the mighty words, “ Fiat lux," were still rolling 
around the eternal throne. He spoke of their 
great sin, and how its heavy shadow was to fall 
on their children through all generations; he 
spoke of the great promise, and how its light was 
to gladden the hearts of those children till the end 
of time. He spoke of the old covenant, with its 
statutes of terror, and rites of blood, leading ever 
upward to its consummation on the Hill of Cal- 
vary; he spoke of the new covenant, streaming 
downward from that Hill, in those ruddy stream- 
lets that were to fructify the whole earth. And 
then in simple words he told of the birth, the 
infancy, and childhood of the Messiah. Of the 
exile in Egypt, the home life in Nazareth, and the 
wandering life around Galilee, seeking for souls. 
And then, as the evening sunset streamed around 
them, rich and red, he spoke of Gethsemane, of 
the scattered disciples, the streets of Jerusalem, and 
their shrieking rabble, of Calvary, and the Cross. 
He said no more, but silently sat and watched 


560 


Marion Howard ; or, 

the shadow on the wall, so silently, that those 
who saw not the burning and throbbing of the 
heart within, vibrating still with the echo of the 
words he had spoken, might have said he was 
a statue. 

But his listener. Strange, he had hardly uttered 
a word with which she had not been familiar from 
lier babyhood, and yet, when at length he turned 
to her, she was weeping like a child. 

“ I am afraid,” he exclaimed, in his usual brisk 
but soothing tone, “ that this conversation has 
been too much for you.” 

“No, no,” she returned, drying her tears, “it 
was not too much, indeed it was not. I cannot 
tell you how I like to hear you talk. You have 
made me feel like a new creature.” 

Father Stirling smiled. “ Will you let me ring 
the bell for my little friend, Sally, for I fear you 
will be getting exhausted for want of refreshment. 
1 was very thoughtless not to think of it before. 
I shall have the doctor forbidding me the house, 
and I should not like that," he added, giving a 
vigorous pull at the bell. 

“ What ! do you mean to say that you will come 
to see me again ?” asked the invalid, with a spark- 
ling eye. 

“ To be sure I will, if you will let me come.” 
“ Indeed, indeed, I will. You may believe, Mr. 
Stirling, that I do not speak to you in the language 
of compliment, when I assure you this is the first 
happy hour I have known, since Mr. Lisle wrote 
and told me that Marion was a Catholic.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 561 

At this moment Sally entered. 

“ It was I who rang for you,” said Father 
Stirling. “ If you had seen how pale and tired 
your mistress looked just now, you would have 
said I should never come again.” 

Sally smiled, and ran down for the tea-things. 

“ And now,” said the priest, once more approach- 
ing his Protestant penitent, “ I must bid you 
good-by. Shall I write for Miss Howard’s ad- 
dress ?” 

“ Not yet. I should like to see you again first, 
if I can.” 

“Very well; I will come again the day after 
to-morrow.” 

“ Thank you very much. But you will stay 
now, and let Sally get you a cup of tea ?” 

“ Nothing, thank you. I expect my old Rufus 
is getting desperate outside. Good-by.” 

Rufus was decidedly put out of the way. Never 
had his master taken such a liberty with him 
before, as to leave him standing in the sun for 
three whole hours, and he shook his ears back in 
a very ill-tempered fashion half the way home. 
But never in his life before had his master heard 
a Protestant confession. 

“ I should think you must be half-dead, ma’am,” 
said Sally, as she handed her mistress the tea. “ I 
wish you would just try and eat this piece of 
toast with it.” 

Much to Sally’s astonishment, not only that, 
but two pieces more disappeared, while Mrs. 
Howard looked so bright, that her little maid was 


562 


Afar ion Hoivard. 


even more puzzled than she had been in the 
morning. 

“ Father Stirling is a good doctor, is he not, 
Sally?” asked her mistress, with a smile. 

“ I should rather think he is. Why, he has 
done more for you in one afternoon than Dr. Ber- 
nard, clever as he is, has done in a month. I hope 
he will come again.” 

“ The day after to-morrow, he says. Will you 
pull the blind quite up ?” 

The girl obeyed, and the room was flooded with 
a sea of gold and crimson, from the midst of which 
the invalid glanced upward, with the radiance of a 
new hope shining in her eye. 

“ This is a bright and beautiful world after all, 
Sally.” 

“ So it is, ma’am, very beautiful. If the people 
who live in it was only made to match, we should 
be very happy, very happy indeed.” 

“ Why, silly child,” exclaimed her mistress, 
“ earth would be heaven then !” 



( 



CHAPTER XXX. 



0\NCE more old Rufus is standing before the 
green gate, prancing with impatience till the 
stirrups dance again, wondering what can 
keep his master so long. Shall we step into 
the little house and look for him, dear reader ? 
Let us go into Mrs. Howard’s room, where Father 
Stirling sat so long the day Sally first brought him, 
talking to the “ dreamer awakened.” No one is 
there, nor does it any longer wear the air of a sick 
chamber, with the even high-piled bed, snowy 
drapery, and country perfume of marjoram-scented 
linen. As we seek him down stairs, glancing into 
each pretty room we pass, all is so bright and gay 
with flowers, that it seems like a preparation for 
some grand gala day. Even Sally’s and Polly’s 
whispers, as they bustle about in their own domain, 
seem to be of something very bright to-morrow. 
There are voices in the little breakfast-room, and 
we may enter if you will, for story tellers and story 
readers are privileged persons. They listen to 
private conversations and confidential communica- 
tions by the dozen, peep into love letters, and even 
dive, with a sort of magical passe-tout , into the very 
bottom of the speakers’ hearts, and yet nobody 
ever gives them the ugly name of eaves-droppers. 

563 


564 Marion Howard ; or , 

And is that Mrs. Howard, she who so lately 
trembled in the shadow of death ? To be sure it 
is, though, to see her now, sitting so uprightly at 
the open window, with her work-box and writing 
materials lying around her, one could hardly 
imagine her to be the same woman, who only a 
fortnight ago had almost fainted in trying to write 
a letter. It is a wonderful change truly, and under 
God, Father Stirling has been a wonderful physi- 
cian. Mrs. Howard has been talking long and 
earnestly, and as he listens, Father Stirling rests 
his arm upon the window sill, and looks out 
across the bright country lands, where the spire in 
the distance rises from among its ivy and its 
graves, and the ripening corn is waving like a 
yellow sea all around it. 

“And so our conversation of last Sunday even- 
ing was our first Catholic one, you consider ?” he 
remarked, as the lady concluded her observations, 
and waited for his reply. 

“I think so; all you have said at other times is 
exactly, I know, what Henry Lisle would have 
uttered. Until last Sunday, I could not have told 
that yours was a different faith to his.” 

“And what impression did that conversation 
leave on you, may I ask ? Did the first glance of 
my cloven foot give you a better or worse impres- 
sion of us ?” 

“ I cannot say. Once I knew too little to be 
aole to criticise your religion, now I know too 
much to dare to judge it. Much as I wish to 
become a real Christian, I tremble still at the 


565 


Trials and Triumphs. 

word Catholic. If what you told me the other 
day was all I had to learn, I might, perhaps, some 
day believe it true; but I have been thinking 
since of many things I have heard about the 
Catholic religion, and some of them seem very 
strange indeed.” 

“ Tell me one of these things.” 

“Well, the worship of the Virgin Mary, for one 
instance. It seems, if I may so phrase it, a rob- 
bery of God, to worship any other than Him. 
Indeed, I cannot see how one can do so, and at 
the same time, steer clear of idolatry.” 

“ It would, certainly, be impossible, if our 
Blessed Lady were worshipped in the sense in 
which you understand the word. But you are 
mistaken, my dear Mrs. Howard. We worship 
God as the source of Light, of Life, and of Truth, 
as the Almighty Creator, Redeemer, and Sancti- 
fier; we honor Mary as the first created intelligence, 
but only as a creature after all. To compare our- 
selves with Mary, would be presumption, to com- 
pare Mary with God, would be blasphemy. There 
is a distance unimaginable between the highest 
archangel and the Virgin Mother; but there is 
a distance infinite as the breadth of heaven itself, 
between that Mother and her Son. And yet we 
worship her with a fond, devoted, childlike love, 
if we cease to do so, we lose half our peace and 
light. But this is not strange. The diamond in 
the monarch’s crown does not sparkle less bril- 
liantly in the sunshine, because the windows of his 

palace glitter in the beam as well. There is room 

48 


566 Marion Howard ; or , 

in the human heart for many kinds of love, for 
friend, child, sister, parent, wife, and country, and 
yet, amid all, God still holds His sway in the 
Christian’s heart. Shall we not, then, find a way to 
love His Mother, without trespassing on His high 
vantage ground ?” 

He paused, but Mrs. Howard remaining silent, 
he continued. 

“ I cannot imagine how any one, who contem- 
plates Mary in the immensity of her dignity, can 
think of her as an ordinary woman. Mother of 
God ! There is that in the very name, that seems 
to cast us prostrate at her feet. Only show a 
woman to the world, who should be daughter 
of one mighty monarch, wife to another, and 
mother of a child one day destined to hold the 
reins of a great empire. Show her, at the same 
time, matchless in human virtue, skilled in human 
arts and science, profound in human learning, pro- 
tectress, moreover, of the oppressed, and common 
pleader of the cause of all men. How would men 
regard her, what national homage would be too 
great, what love could her people testify, that 
would be too deep for such a queen as this? Yet, 
let this woman be what she might, Mary is more, 
for what she would be on earth, Mary is in heaven. 
Daughter of God the Father. Mother of God the 
Son, Spouse of God the Holy Ghost, she shines 
upon us with a threefold radiance, and binds us to 
her with a triple cord of love. Could we look on 
her in heaven, we should see her as she is ; looking 
up to her from earth, she is simply a mystery. 


5^7 


Trials and Triumphs. 

Threefold in her glory, she is threefold in her 
power ; and prays, as she alone can pray, for 
her children here below, the younger brethren 
of her Son.” 

“But, Mr. Stirling, how can she do this? You 
say she is only a creature, and yet you seem to 
endue her with the God-like attribute of Omni- 
science, else how could she read the thoughts, and 
hear the prayers of people in every part of the 
world at once?” 

“ Is the devil a creature ?” 

“Yes, of course he is.” 

“Is he omniscient?” 

“No; what a strange question!” 

“ How does he tempt the whole world at once, 
then ?” 

“I am sure I don’t know, I never thought of 
this!” exclaimed the lady, opening her eyes. 

“ Most likely not,” cried Father Stirling, much 
amused at her astonishment; “‘we discover things 
that our philosophy never dreamt of/ every day. 
You must not imagine, however, that I draw any 
parallel between the power of Satan and that of our 
Blessed Mother, for her sympathies are one thing, 
his temptations another. The prince of the power 
of the air is, next to Mary, the highest created 
intelligence, and with that intelligence he directs 
his myrmidons, those myriads of spirits that fell 
from heaven with him, but no more. He is a 
spirit, and as such, being endowed with the attri- 
butes of agility, he can pass more swiftly than 
light, but he can only be in one place at a time. 


563 


Marion Hozvard; or, 

Now, with Mary it is very different. Her home is 
heaven, and as she gazes on God in the Beatific 
Vision, she sees the reflection of the universe in 
Him, perhaps in that sea of crystal that stretches 
far and wide before the Eternal Throne. There 
lie our troubles, there our joys, and Mary, as she 
gazes on them in God, prays, for every throb of 
that Immaculate Heart is prayer.” 

“ But why call her immaculate ? Did she never 
sin?” 

“ Never. Could God, think you — He who is 
of 'eyes too pure to behold iniquity’ — could He 
have been the Child of a sin-stained mother? 
Impossible. He 'who loves to repose among the 
lilies’ would not have the lily that He chose, 
flecked with a single spot of the earth from whence 
it grew. And Mary was that lily. Immaculate 
from the first moment of her existence, immaculate 
in her life and death, immaculate she was assumed 
to heaven.” 

“ But, really, Mr. Stirling, how do you know all 
this ? The Bible says nothing concerning it.” 

“ There are many things on which the Bible is 
silent. Do you think the few pages of the Gospels 
contain all the words and actions of our Lord ? 
Certainly not, for St. John expressly says, that 
‘could all these be collected, the world itself 
should not contain the books that should be 
written.’ Yet why should one thing that He said, 
or one action that He performed, be recorded more 
than another ? Simply because God so willed it. 
Some things not explicitly recorded in the Bible, 


569 


Trials and Triumphs. 

we know, by inference ; some not recorded at all, 
by tradition. Nor is it the Catholic Church alone 
that recognizes tradition. Why do Protestants 
baptize their infants, when not a word is said con- 
cerning it in the Bible ; and why do they sanctify 
the first day of the week, and do their hardest 
work upon the seventh, when the Bible says, 
4 Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy, for 
the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy 
God’? They do both upon tradition. The Bible 
is undoubtedly the word of God, and to act con- 
trary to its commands and precepts, would be to 
act contrary to Him who gave it; but it was never 
given as the common text-book for the mass of 
mankind. ‘ They who are unstable, wrest ever 
the Holy Scriptures to their own destruction/ and 
these words that the great apostle spoke by inspi- 
ration, might be the natural language of us all, 
even in the present generation, and that from the 
depths of our experience.” 

“And yet there is enough in the Bible to carry 
us to heaven.” 

“ If we knew how to use it, undoubtedly ; but 
where would be the cure, think you, if, instead of 
consulting a physician, the sick man sent for a 
pharmacopoeia, and studied it himself? There is, 
certainly, a probability that he might simply do 
himself neither good nor harm, though the chances 
are, I think, that he would get poisoned. And 
yet, place that little book in the hands of a 
mediciner, and strength grows in his patients as he 
consults it. ‘ Understandest thou what thou read- 


570 


Ml avion Howard ; or } 

est ?’ asked St. Philip of the officer of Queen 
Candace, who sat in his chariot, with the Scriptures 
open before him. ‘ How can I,’ was the reply, 
4 unless some man should guide me?’ Was St. 
Philip surprised at the answer? In no way. We 
simply hear that he took his place beside him in 
the chariot, and ‘preached unto him Jesus;’ and 
where the written word had been incomprehen- 
sible, the preaching of the Church, represented by 
the apostle, prevailed, and the ‘man of great 
authority was baptized, and went on his way 
rejoicing.’ 

“ The Bible, I repeat, cannot be too much re- 
spected, but the child must beware how he plays 
with fire, or tampers with sharp edged tools, and 
the man must beware how he plays with the fire 
of the Spirit, or tampers with the Word of God, 
‘ sharper than a two-edged sword.’ And is respect 
for the Bible, do you think, compatible with using 
it as a common school-book ? Shall the decrees 
and revelations of the Most High God be read in 
turn with the history of a few ephemeral nations, 
and the sayings and discoveries of a few poor 
worms ? While the traveller stands entranced, as 
he gazes for the first time on Loch Lomond, the 
shepherd boy, born upon its margin, walks whist- 
ling by; what is there for him, but rocks, trees, 
sky, and water! ‘Familiarity breeds contempt;’ 
and he who has spelt wearily through the abstruse 
epistles in his childhood, will find it hard in later 
years to see their beauty. But we are wandering 
from the subject we commenced; do you think 


57i 


Trials and Triumphs. 

you see any better yet, in vvhat light we regard the 
Blessed Virgin Mary ?” 

“Yes; but still I do not see, notwithstanding all 
you have said, that there is any necessity to pray 
to her, or any other saint at all. You believe that 
God hears prayers that are addressed directly to 
Him, do you not.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ And answers them ?” 

“ If He sees good to do so.” 

“Then what need is there of any medium in 
addressing Him?” 

“ Mrs. Howard, do you think St. Paul ever 
prayed ?” 

“ Of course he did.” 

“Were his prayers ever answered?” 

“Yes, sometimes miraculously.” 

“ Then why did he ask his brethren to pray for 
him ?” 

She was silent. 

“ What do you mean when you say on Sunday, 
‘I believe in the communion of saints.’ Do not 
even Protestants say, that it means a communion 
of love, and sympathy, and prayers.” 

“I really do not know what they think it means,” 
replied his companion, with a slight flush. 

“ Then take my word for it, such is their version 
of its meaning. Like us, too, though not so often 
as we, they pray for their friends, and ask them in 
their turn to remember them at the throne of grace. 
They could not well scruple to do so, when they 
read in their own Bibles, that ‘ the fervent prayer 


572 


Marion Howard; or , 

of a righteous man availeth much/ Therefore, my 
dear friend, you see plainly that those of your own 
faith frequently use mediums between themselves 
and God/' 

“ But these mediums are living people. If I ask 
you to pray for me to-night, as I shall do before 
you leave me, that is very different to kneeling 
down and saying to one long since dead, pray for 
me/’ 

“ Very different, because, in speaking to me, you 
address a fellow-sinner, one who, for aught you 
know, may be out of a state of grace, and whose 
prayers, in that case, would be valueless for others, 
until he repented himself, whereas, in the saint, you 
invoke one, standing in the immediate presence of 
God Himself. So the question simply resolves 
itself into this ; can the blessed in heaven hear, see, 
and sympathize with those on earth ? and I say 
they can. How else can angels rejoice over a re- 
pentant sinner? and does not the inspired word 
itself tell us, that the saints are as the angels of 
God in heaven, and that they are equal to the 
angels? There is also a great instance of the inter- 
cession of an angel being heard and answered, in 
the book of Zacharias. I will try and give it you 
in the sacred words themselves. ‘ The angel of the 
Lord answered, and said, O, Lord of Hosts! how 
long wilt Thou not have mercy on Jerusalem, and 
on the cities of Judah, with which Thou hast been 
angry these threescore and ten years ? And the 
Lord answered the angel that talked with Him, 
with good words, and comfortable words.’ Again, 


573 


Trials and Triumphs . 

in the Apocalypse, we hear that 'the four-and- 
twcnty elders fell down before the Lamb, having 
vials full of odors, which are the prayers of the 
saints ;’ and further on, in the same book of myste- 
rious revelation, we read: 'And another angel came 
and stood before the altar, having a golden censer, 
and there was given to him much incense, that he 
should offer the prayers of all saints upon the 
golden altar, which is before the throne of God. 
And the smoke of the incense of the prayers of the 
saints ascended before God from the hand of the 
angel.’ What could possibly be more conclusive, 
my dear Mrs. Howard, than these two last pas- 
sages ? The saints here spoken of are the blessed 
in heaven ; what must have been their prayers that 
the angel thus presented before God ? Were they 
for themselves? Certainly not; what then could 
they, who have light, and peace, and joy, and love, 
in fullest, broadest perfection, pray for, unless it 
were for their brethren still fighting and struggling 
on earth ?” 

" But you pray more often to the Virgin Mary 
than you do to God, at least so Protestants say.” 

" I am not prepared to admit this ; but, even if it 
were so, remember, that in praying to her we pray 
to Him. Mary, of herself, has no power to grant 
us anything, either spiritual or temporal, but God 
has made her the dispenser of His graces, and in 
Him, and through Him she obtains us all things. 
Our prayers are cold, faint, doubting; hers, who 
shall describe them ! If, at the moment of the 
annunciation, she was ‘ full of grace, and blessed 

’ O’ 


574 


Marion Howard ; or, 

amongst women,’ what is she after all the graces 
and glories that have fallen on her since then? 
And if she is too compassionate not to pray, too 
dearly cherished by the ever Blessed Trinity to 
pray unheard, shall we make light of such an advo- 
cate, and prefer our own cold prayers to hers ? 
Like the sun, God shines forth upon His creation, 
the Source of light and heat, but we cannot gaze 
on Him with mortal eyes, cannot endure the rays 
of His glory. With 1 ight reflected from the un- 
approachable brightness of God, moon-like, Mary 
shines from heaven, and we gaze without difficulty 
on her tempered radiance, and pass on our way, 
amid the calm white rays of her love. Truly, truly, 
when the reformers tore away everything bri ght 
and beautiful from the ancient Church, and like 
foxes and night-birds, made for themselves a home 
amid the dismantled ruins, fairest of all the sweet 
things they ravished, were the altars of Mary. 
From the moment that her images were broken, 
her pictures defaced, her rosaries scattered bead by 
bead, and that the Angelus ceased to float upon 
the breeze, from that moment the poetry of religion 
faded from English hearts and homes.” 

“And yet,” objected his listener, “England is 
prosperous, and even religious.” 

“Yes, prosperous with a human prosperity; reli- 
gious, with a cold, calculating religion, that spends 
hundreds on its churches, and hundreds of thous- 
ands on its homes. That gives its dole of worship 
once a week to God, as though calculating to a 
nicety what it must do to be saved. That finds 


575 


Trials and Triumphs . 

goods works supererogatory, the pain of fasting 
contrary to the liberty of the Gospel, and penance 
food for laughter. That never takes one generous 
view of religion, nor offers one mortification on its 
altar. It is an easy thing to kneel in a softly- cush- 
ioned pew, and call one’s self ‘a miserable sinner/ 
but it is not so easy to feel the hard wood of the 
cross pressing into the weary shoulder, and yet 
take it, as the just reward of those miserable sins.” 
“You are very bitter against Protestants.” 

“ God forbid. Indeed, my dear friend, you are 
quite mistaken ; I know too well the heaviness of 
the cloud that obscures their path, to blame them 
when they fail to pierce it. Some people tell us 
that the age of miracles is past, but I look on every 
conversion as a special miracle of God.” 

“Do you think I shall ever be a Catholic?” 
He was silent. 

“ Do tell me.” 

“What do you think yourself?” 

“I catmot say; your religion is very beautiful, 
and — ” she paused. 

“Let me finish the sentence,” said the priest; “I 
will pray to be directed.” 

Mrs. Howard smiled, and Father Stirling rose to 
take his leave. 

“ Good-by ; try and keep calm for to-morrow.” 
“ I will ; but Mr. Stirling — ” 

He bent forward to catch the low tones of her 
voice. 

“ Will you pray for me ? I should like to be a 
Catholic, if I could,” 


5/6 


Marion Howard ; or } 

“ I will, on one condition.” 

She glanced up, inquiringly. 

“ That you do not call me ‘Mr. Stirling* any 
more.” 

“Father, will you pray for me?” 

“ I will, my child ; indeed I will.” 

“Poor thing,” he muttered, as two minutes later 
he was riding down the street ; “ poor thing, there is 
no crucible like the crucible of affliction, after all.” 
The red sky had not been a false prophet at 
either Ennington or Harleyford, for when the 
morrow came, the August sun shone forth in his 
most ardent splendor from the bright blue sky 
above. Sally had been up and busy from a very 
early hour, and she and Polly, fresh and smart as 
two country posies, were on the tip-toe of expecta- 
tion. Mrs. Howard, with a smile on her trembling 
lip, sat before her toilette glass, that reflected a 
countenance strangely different to the Mrs. Howard 
of other days. 

The night had been once more a sleepless one, 
but it had not been weary, for every hour that 
chimed had been another nearer to her child, and 
the mother, in sweet anticipation, had watched for 
the morning light. As it broke upon the bed, she 
reached a book from her pillow, and began to read. 
But it was not for long, for the words that met her 
eyes seemed so much like an echo from her own 
night thoughts, that she could go no further. 
“ What is truth ?” Momentous question, asked by 
Pilate, who yet tarried not for his answer. Should 
she be like him ? Forbid it, heaven ! It seemed 


5 77 


Trials and Triumphs . 

as though the form of the ancient Roman started 
from the shadows of the past, to warn by his 
unanswered question, those who, after glancing at 
the 1 ight, pass on into yet deeper darkness. All 
she had read and heard, during the last few weeks 
of her sickness, came back into her mind ; strange 
thoughts and feelings, growing, like the morning 
light around her, stronger and intenser every 
moment. “ What is truth ?” she whispered, as she 
replaced her book. “ I am the Way, the Truth, 
and the Life,” came the answer, and with it, a new 
born faith, a fitful hope, a trembling gleam of love. 
Mrs. Howard rose, and prepared to meet her child, 
but over and above her calm expectation, there 
hovered the same look that had puzzled Mr. 
Bernard a fortnight before, and had sent Sally on 
her mission of love to Harleyford. 

“ The missis is altered as I never see,” said Polly, 
as she returned to the kitchen from carrying up 
Mrs. Howard’s breakfast. 

“You’d be altered, child, if you had borne all 
she has, and that ever since the spring.” 

“ But I don’t mean in her face, I mean in her 
ways.” 

“ What have her ways got to do with you, I 
should like to know? Just you sit down and eat 
your breakfast, and mind your own business,” cried 
Sally, in a tone of ineffable contempt. 

Polly laughed. “ You haven’t altered yourn, any 
way about. I don’t believe the missis would have 
spoken to me as sharp as that, if I had done ever 

such a thing to vex her.” 

49 


578 


Marion Howard ; or , 


“ I’d advise you not to try.” 

“ I don’t mean to, for I like her now; I used to 
hate her once, though.” 

“ More shame for you. And you call yourself a 
Christian, I suppose !” 

“Well, I suppose I am. I ain’t a hanimal, 
am I?” 

Sally only poured her tea into her saucer in 
indignant silence. “ I tell you what it is,” she 
exclaimed, at length, “ I shan’t be sorry when 
you’re off. I’d rather by half do all the work 
myself, than be pestered with you ; you young’ 
girls are so awful aggravating.’ 

Polly, who infinitely preferred her berth at Mrs. 
Howard’s to her father’s cottage, with its weekly 
luxury of fat bacon, began to whimper. 

Sally gradually softened. “ Come, leave off 
that noise, and we’ll see. I like you well enough 
about me, when you behave yourself.” 

The tears ceased, and Polly commenced a vigor- 
ous attack on the bread and butter. 

“What did Mrs. Howard say to you,” inquired 
Sally, “ that made you think of her being altered ?” 
“ She told me I looked very neat and tidy, and 
asked me how I got on with you ?” 

“What did you say?” 

“ I said very well, for of course I didn’t know you 
was going to snap one up so, when I come back.” 
Sally smiled. “ I always get cross when I hear 
a word said against her.” 

“ Why ?” 

“Why! What a child you are, to be sure, for 


579 


’Trials and Triumphs. 

knowing the whys and wherefores of everything ! 
Well, if you must know, it’s just this. For many 
years after I first came here, I saw very little of 
Mrs. Howard, and thought about her still less. 
It was Miss Marion as I had to do with. As you, 
and all the rest of the village know, Miss Marion 
went away, and you know too, how her mother 
said, that until she was a Protestant again, she 
should never come back. Now a great many 
people in the place think that this was all the 
missis’s doings, but I’ve my eyes about me, Polly, 
and I know better. There were many days, when, 
proud as she was, the missis would have given 
way, if Miss Marion had only had some one to 
speak for her. But she hadn’t, poor dear young 
lady; for as for me, I was, of course, as good as 
nothing. I should only have lost my place, and my 
nose with it, if I had said a word. No, as I said 
just now, it wasn’t Mrs. Howard’s doing, but all 
that Mr. Lisle — you remember him, the parson as 
used to be here before Mr. Mason. I think, and 
so does a good many people, that he had some- 
how been keeping company with Miss Marion, but 
anyways, he turned against her as bitter as gall. 
Now, if you like, I do hate him above a bit! One 
day I recollect fetching him in a glass of ale ; of 
course they both kept quiet while I was in the 
room, but as I shut the door, I heard him say, 
quite plain, ‘ Don’t give way ! don’t give way !* 
She had been crying all the morning, I could see 
by her eyes, but, of course, she said nothing to me, 
for it wasn’t her nature.” 


58o 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“ I know that,” interrupted her auditor. 

“After Mr. Lisle went that day, she seemed 
more unhappy than ever, and soon afterwards 
we left Ennington, she and me, and went to 
live a lonely life in Clifton. Laws, Polly ! I never 
was so dull in my life ! Down a strange kind 
of crooked way they call the Zigzags one day, 
across the Downs another, or else a little shopping 
in Clifton, or in large streets in Bristol, which 
we never seemed to see twice, that was all we 
ever did, and then we used to come back to the 
lodgings for the rest of the day, each to keep our 
own company. And amongst it all, the worst 
was, that I could see her heart was breaking. If 
she would only have spoken to me, I used some- 
times to feel that I could have helped her to 
bear her great sorrow. But she never said a word 
to me about anything but my business, for while 
we were there, I used to make her dresses, and do 
all sorts of things to take up my time. She 
wouldn’t have had me with her, only she didn’t 
like the looks of being alone. Well, would you 
believe, Polly, I grew quite fond of her, although 
she never seemed to notice me any more than 
the first day I had come. But I determined to 
make her like me, and at last the day came. One 
morning she got a letter from Miss Smith, the 
person that took the house while we were in 
Clifton, and something in it vexed her so, that 
she burst out crying right before me. I only 
went up to her, as I felt it right to do at the 
moment, seeing her so lonely and unprotected, 


Trials and Triumphs . 581 

but I felt as if I could throw my arms around 
her neck. I don’t know what I said, but I never 
saw anything so angry as she was for a minute. 
She seemed half as tall again, and looked just 
as I could fancy a great queen. I tried to beg 
her pardon, but I broke out into such a great 
sob instead, that I always feel quite ashamed 
when I think of it. And what do you think 
she did ? Why, she came straight up to me, 
and put her two hands upon my shoulders with 
such an altered face, that I thought it couldn’t 
possibly be her. But it was her, and from that 
moment she grew quite changed to me. She 
keeps her place, and I keep mine, and so we 
always shall, but in heart we are like friends. 
She is a widow, and I am an orphan, and there 
seems to be something more than common that 
binds us together. Since her illness she has 
altered still more, and if she goes on much 
longer like this, we shall have her an angel. 
But somehow, I don’t want that, for then she 
would, perhaps, take to her wings, and fly away 
forever. Now, Polly, you know I haven’t told 
you this, to go and tell everybody, but just to 
let you see how much there was good in her 
all the time that she seemed so proud and cold, 
for you see it was only seeming.” 

Polly shook her head. “ I like her very much 
now, and I only hope she will keep like she is. 
But people changes sometimes after they get well, 
don’t they?” ruminated Polly. 

“Not such as her,” replied Sally; “no, child, 
49 * 


532 


M avion Howard ; or, 


it’s all the Lord’s doing, this is. Do you know, 
Polly, what she puts me in mind of, when I 
see her so good and so loving?” 

“ No. What ?” 

“ Of the bright fresh stream that gushed out 
of the hard rock when Moses struck it. If it 
hadn’t been for that rod, the water would have 
been in it, I suppose, to this day; and if it hadn’t 
pleased the Lord to smite poor missis with a 
heavy trouble, the love that we see now might 
have been shut up in her heart till her dying day. 
“ Don’t you think so ?” 

“ Yes,” said Polly, trying to look wise. “ Who’s 
the gentleman as comes here so often ?” 

“A minister,” replied Sally. 

“A minister, is he? What a queer cut of a 
coat he do wear, to be sure !” 

“Never mind his coat; it’s the cut of his face 
as I like.” 

“Does he live far off?” 

“ Not very,” replied Sally, who had been 
enjoined by her mistress to say as little as possi- 
ble concerning their visitor. 

“ It’s him as is coming with miss to-day, aint it?” 

“Yes, he is a friend of hers.” 

“ Is he married ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Perhaps he’s after Miss Marion too,” said 
Polly, thoughtfully. 

“ No he isn’t, so you’d better not be making any 
more guesses. He’s a reg’lar right-down bachelor, 
and no mistake.” 


5§3 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ O goodness !” cried Polly; “but, however do 
you know, he ain’t so old ?” 

A ring from the bed-room bell silenced the 
speaker, and left her to finish her bread and butter 
unassisted. 

Jy vit’ vlf »*.’ 

^ /f* 

A repentant mother! R:ader, the veil must 
fall ! Such was a spectacle for angels, not for men. 
Even Father Stirling lingered in the porch for full 
ten minutes, before he ventured in, stroking Tyrza, 
and humming the “ four-leaved shamrock.” 

That afternoon Sally and Polly kept house alone, 
and old Rufus bore three happy hearts behind him 
to Plarleyford. A grateful tear twinkled in her eye, 
as the mistress of the Cedars embraced the friend 
of her youth, and with no slight emotion, bade her 
welcome to her home and heart. 

“ How things does change about in this world, 
’Liza, my girl!” said Turner, as she that night 
settled herself to sleep. 

“ Didn’t I say she would come round after a bit, 
mother ?” 

“ So you did, so you did ; the Lord forgive me 
for all the things as I’ve ever said agin her. How 
she do be changed to be sure! O, deary, deary 
me ! Miss Marion is as happy as a queen, that she 
be, the Lord love her !” 

And the Lord does love her ; fragile instrument 
in the working of great and glorious things ! The 
bright curls nestle to-night against her mother’s 
cheek, and Golden-hair dreams of heaven. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 


Anil- T 


ft 


& 


i 


RS. HOWARD became a Catholic. A month 
later, the cottage at Ennington was to let, 
L and Tyrza purred contentedly before the 
kitchen fire of his new dwelling at Harley- 
ford. Naturally enough, Mrs. Howard regretted 
the sweet little home that had welcomed her as a 
bride, and sheltered her as a widow, but this regret 
was but a small item to be weighed against the 
enjoyment of Catholic privileges, and, like Tyrza, 
she soon grew accustomed to the change. She 
was very happy. Happy in the society of her old 
friends, happy in her child, happy in her glorious 
and new found faith. And yet the past was not 
forgotten. Her new religion taught her too well 
the value of tribulation for her to forget its lessons, 
and often, very often, even when her hope and love 
were brightest, she looked back. Looked back at 
the gentle husband to whom she had been a way- 
ward and exacting wife, at the child wandering 
from her mother’s arms, at the outraged relation 
dying unreconciled, until fairly wearied with the 
dreariness of the prospect, she turned to the future 
for relief. And what was Mrs. Howard’s future? 
What it had been, a fabric raised from the earthly 
elements around her, piled high on a foundation of 

5§4 


5§5 


Trials and Triumphs . 

ambition, cemented with pride? No, something- 
very different lay before her now, and she gazed 
upon it silently and thoughtfully. “ Rejoice with 
fear,” says the apostle, and she trembled as she 
read and meditated on final perseverance. “ Eye 
hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered 
into the heart of man to conceive, what God hath 
prepared for those who love Him,” and with re- 
stored confidence, she walked on her w ay with 
a firm foot, while the music of heaven seemed 
already ringing around her path. 

And what did Marion all this time ? Was not 
her cup of joy running over? She was very happy, 
and whenever she compared, as she did twenty 
times a day, the joy of her present life, with, 
troubles not long passed by, she smiled very 
brightly. Nor was even the thought of Edward, 
left alone in his little home, a serious drawback to 
this happiness, for she knew that he kept up his 
heart by promising it a mistress at no very distant 
day. Poor brother Edward, he was very philoso- 
phical, and yet, in spite of his philosophy, he felt 
rather lonely sometimes over his solitary breakfast 
and silent dinner. But, “ Marion is where she 
ought to be,” was the thought that chased away 
his discontent, and he only worked harder than 
ever in his garden. 

And so in the freshly-painted house, half-way 
between the Cedars and the Church, Golden-hair 
and her mother lived together. There was some^ 
thing even more than filial in Marion’s affection, 
for mingled with her love was a solicitude almost 


536 


Marion Howard ; or, 

maternal, and truly, most truly, was it appreciated. 
“ Perpetual Sunshine,” Mrs. Darrell called her, and 
told her one morning, as she kissed her, that hers 
was now a life without a shadow. Was she right ? 

“ I wonder, my dear,” said Mrs. Howard, that 
very evening, after a long talk about the old days 
at Ennington, “ I wonder how our old friend Henry 
Lisle gets on in his new living.” 

There was no answer. 

“ Poor fellow,” continued the mother, musingly, 
“I should like to see him, but I suppose that will 
never be.” 

In an instant the curls were drooping over the 
table amid such a heart-rending sob, that the name 
.was neutral ground hereafter. 

It was a dreary November day, a dull morning 
had subsided into a still duller afternoon, and the 
shadows were deepening fast. Mrs. Howard was 
sitting before the fire, and Marion, no longer able 
to work, was standing by the window, lost in a 
reverie. 

“ He is at home by this time,” said Mrs. How- 
ard, suddenly looking up. 

“ Who ?” asked Marion, starting. 

“Joe, of course. What a strange child you are. 
Were we not just now talking of him?” 

“Yes, I remember now, but I did not think of 
him for the minute.” 

“You thought I meant Edward, I suppose. I 
wonder we have not heard from him. Perhaps we 
shall have a letter in the morning, saying at what 
time we may expect him. He must come to- 


Trials and Triumphs . 587 

morrow, to sign the deeds of partnership. Well, 
his bed is quite ready, even if he were to come 
to-night, for Sally has been airing it, and arranging 
his room all the morning. Dear boy ! I do so 
long to see him 1 I am sure, Marion, I shall grow 
to love him quite as much for his own sake as for 
yours, or even your poor dear father’s, for his 
letters could not be more affectionate to me, if I 
were his very own mother. Just hand me his 
portrait. I must have another look at him; though 
if this is like him, I think I know his face pretty 
well already.” 

Marion gave her the morocco case, and a con- 
versation ensued that effectually roused the little 
dreamer from her reverie. To have talked to her 
of Edward and Edith, would have awakened her, 
had she been one of the seven sleepers. A double 
knock at the door, however, brought the chat to a 
sudden conclusion. The door opened, and Mrs. 
Howard’s hand was grasped in Joe Darrell’s. 

“ Dear Mrs. Howard,” he exclaimed, “ I am so 
truly pleased to meet you. As you may imagine, 
your name has been a conspicuous item in every 
letter I have received from home for the last two 
months. And how is Marion ?” he asked, turning 
to her, and pressing her hand with the quiet 
frankness of an elder brother. “ My congratula- 
tions come late in the day, but they are very 
sincere ones. You must be very happy now!” 

“ I am, indeed,” she replied, in a voice trembling 
with emotion. 

“And so are we happy,” continued Joe, in the 


Marion Howard ; or, 


588 

same calm clear tone, “very happy in having you 
so near us. We shall have the old musical even- 
ings over again now. Won’t it be jolly! We will 
sing our old duets till the Cedars ring again ! 
You have not forgotten ‘All’s Well/ I hope?” 

“ No,” said Marion, looking at him in some 
amazement. 

“ We must rout up Jessie and Dora too,” he 
continued. “ Those were nice evenings we used 
to have at their house. ‘And so we will again/ 
as the song says, ‘and so we will again!’” 

“You seem quite revelling in the anticipation of 
your musical evenings, Joe,” remarked the elder 
lady. “Well, they say, ‘music hath charms,’ but 
perhaps something else in Mr. Seymour’s house 
has still greater ones. Jessie is a nice-looking 
girl, and they tell me that Dora is very clever.” 
“To be sure; you see I am no bad judge!” 
Mrs. Howard smiled, but there was more of 
perplexity than mirth in Marion’s laugh. 

“It is not much more than an hour since I 
arrived,” said Joe, “but I was obliged to run over 
to have just a few minutes chat with you. My 
mother wants you to go back with me to spend 
the evening. It is not foggy ; do you think you 
might venture ?” 

“ I think so,” said Mrs. Howard, rising, and 
walking to the window; “ but now tell me, is your 
health improved ?” 

“Very much,” replied Joe; “indeed, I have 
come back an altered being ;” and there was a side 
glance across the room. “ I have had exercise of 


5§9 


Trials and Triumphs. 

body, I can assure you, and almost more exercise 
than I could manage for the mind. But I have 
accomplished my task ;” and Joe’s dark eyes 
flashed with unwonted energy. 

‘‘You have been alone during the latter part of 
your tour, have you not?” asked Mrs. Howard. 

“ No,” replied Joe, “ not alone, but led, helped, 
guided, assisted, or my task would never have been 
completed.” 

“Why, what was it?” asked the lady, surprised 
at his earnestness ; “ and who assisted you in 

accomplishing it?” 

Joe paused and smiled. “ My task !” he ex- 
claimed ; “ such a one, that when I look back upon 
the last two months I am lost in wonder. I will 
tell you,” he added, suddenly changing his man- 
ner; “ I have visited France, Italy, Switzerland, and 
Germany, since August. What do you think of 
that for a task ?” 

“ Pretty well — and your companion ?” 

“ Did I tell you I had had one ?” 

“To be sure you did, not two minutes since — a 
leader, guide, director; in short, everything one 
could imagine to be most requisite in an unknown 
country.” 

“Ah, yes — though you misunderstood me — but 
never mind, you are right, notwithstanding, for I 
had a companion. A companion, too, that I will 
not attempt to describe, for you will meet him 
to-night, and be able to judge of his merits for 
yourselves.” 

“You were very fortunate to fall in with him.” 

50 


59 ° 


Marion Howard ; or> 

“Very,” said Joe. “I met him by — well — not 
by chance — but suddenly in Paris. Such an eye 
for the beauties of nature, such a mind to penetrate 
her works, such a will to overcome fatigue and 
difficulties, I never met before.” 

“Is he young?” 

“Not very — about five-and-thirty.” 

“ I am glad you have brought him home with 
you,” said Mrs. Howard; “for I am quite anxious 
to see him. Why, my dear boy, he must be a 
perfect phoenix !” 

Joe laughed, just as he used to do in the hay- 
fields, when they were all boys and girls together, 
Marion thought. 

“Then, I suppose,” observed Mrs. Howard, “I 
am to infer that your trip has been a pleasant one.” 

“ Well, yes,” replied the young man, rather 
hesitatingly, “ I suppose you may, upon the whole, 
though even the Drachenfels, Swiss glaciers, and 
Paris gayeties have their drawbacks. But Rome 
repaid me for all, beautiful, classic, Catholic Rome ! 
I felt as if I never could have left her. Yet here 
I am, you see, fully prepared to forget my enthu- 
siasm, and buckle to business. Ensconced behind 
the desk and ledger, I shall soon forget even the 
Eternal City.” 

“ No, you will not,” said a low, timid voice. 

“ Do vou not think so ?” he asked, turning; to 
the speaker, while a flush of delight shot across 
his dark features. “Well, Marion, perhaps you 
are right, perhaps I appreciate such things more 
than I myself imagine.” 


59i 


Trials and Triumphs. 



“ One who could not, would have neither a 
great mind nor a large heart, and Joe Darrell has 
both.” 

Mrs. Howard looked up, rather surprised. 

Joe laughed. “You did not think your quiet 
little daughter was quite such a flatterer, did you, 
Mrs. Howard?” 

“ She is no flatterer, for I know she speaks the 
truth ; but you must be a great favorite, for she 
does not often speak her sentiments so unre- 
servedly. Is it not so, Marion ?” 

“He is everybody’s favorite, mamma, you- do 
not know him yet; when you do, you will not be 
surprised at hearing everybody praise him.” 

Joe turned over the leaves of a book that lay on 
the table, to hide his emotion. Fully did he appre- 
ciate the words of the speaker, but fully also did 
he understand that every encomium was another 
stone, raising yet higher the wall of separation be- 
tween them. But Joe had learned his hard lesson 
of resignation to good purpose, for in two minutes 
he was himself again. 

“ Edward is coming up to-morrow, I believe,” 
said Mrs. Howard. 

“So I hear, to sign the deeds of partnership; 
then hurrah ! for Howard & Darrell !” 

“ In more senses than one !” said Mrs. Howard. 

“In more senses than one,” repeated Joe. “ God 
grant that both partnerships may prove happy 
ones.” 

“It will be your turn next, Joe,” 

Howard. 


said Mrs. 


592 


M avion Howard ; or } 


“ What to do ?” 

“To follow Edward’s example, to be sure.” 
“And get spliced! No, I was cut out for a 
bachelor. Wouldn’t be bothered with a wife for 
all I could see. But you have not told me yet 
how you like Harleyford,” he added, changing the 
subject rather abruptly. 

“ I have good reason to like it,” answered the 
lady. 

“That’s no criterion, Mrs. Howard. When I was 
a youngster they always told me that I ought to 
like Latin and Greek, and the master’s cane, and 
the doctor’s physic ; but I had a wonderful aver- 
sion to them all, nevertheless.” 

“ Then I am not so difficult to please, for I love 
Harleyford dearly, both for its own sake and your 
mother’s. I do not know what I should do with- 
out her now.” 

“ There are not many like her, that’s my private 
opinion,” said Joe. “Young fellows talk a great 
deal about independence now-a-days, but those 
who talk loudest are the very first to run home 
to their mothers, when things are not straight with 
them. As for mine — I could never say what she 
has been to me, or what I should do without her.” 
“ May it be very long before you solve the sad 
problem by experience, my dear boy.” 

Merry as Joe naturally was, his observations not 
unfrequently turned even the gayest conversations 
into a serious channel. Perhaps from the simple 
fact, that they were rarely speculative, but came 
freely, impulsively from the depths of his own heart, 


593 


Trials and 'Triumphs. 

and from their very artlessness and simplicity, found 
an echo in the experience of those with whom he 
talked. Had Joe Darrell tried to make a speech 
on a mother’s love, he would signally have failed, 
but volumes would not have furnished such a testi- 
mony to the value of his own, as did the glistening 
eye and kindling cheek with which he spoke of her. 

Many were the questions that Mrs. Howard and 
Marion asked, concerning his travels. He gave 
them a graphic, but thoroughly characteristic ac- 
count of his wanderings, humorous when told in 
his own way, strangely evasive when given as an 
answer. Mrs. Howard was charmed, but Marion 
thoroughly bewildered. It was not until Sally en- 
tered to remind them that it was five o’clock, that 
they noticed how time was passing. 

“By George!” he exclaimed, starting to his feet, 
“ I promised my mother only to stop ten minutes, 
and I have been here an hour.” 

“ Our toilette shall not detain you long,” said 
Marion, as she tripped up stairs with her mother; 
“ make friends with him, Tyrza.” 

Joe did not care much for cats, and yet in half a 
minute Tyrza was upon his new friend’s knee, and 
positively rubbing his cold nose in his whiskers. 

“Cool!” said Joe, stroking him; “do you know 
you’re smothering me with hairs? but your mis- 
tress’ cat may do whatever he likes.” 

“ Marion,” said Joe, as they neared the presby- 
tery gate, “ Father Stirling told me that he should 
be glad to see you this evening, for a few minutes, 

if you would run in.” 

50 * 


594 


Marion Howard ; or, 

“I had better go now, I think,” said Marion. 

“ Certainly,” replied Joe, “no time like the 
present; we will go forward and herald your 
approach at the Cedars. Come, Mrs. Howard.” 

“ We will see her in at the gate first,” said the 
mother, a very little nettled at her companion’s 
want of gallantry. 

“Yes, yes, I forgot; let me open it, Marion, 
and shut it after you too. Good-by — for ever.” 

The last two words were uttered in a whisper so 
low, that even Marion did not hear them ; had she 
done so, or caught sight of the ashy face that 
turned from the gate as she passed up the path, 
her fancy might have pictured some deed of des- 
peration. But it would have been a groundless 
fear; never had Joe prayed more fervently for 
her, and for himself, than at that moment, and 
those who pray are never desperate. 

“ I wonder what Father Stirling can want that 
child for, this evening. Some new case in her 
district, I suppose,” said Mrs. Howard. 

“Shall I tell you?” asked Joe. 

“Do so,” said Mrs. Howard, quickly, almost 
alarmed at her companion’s manner. 

The answer was such a long one, that though 
they were waiting tea at the Cedars, they walked 
past the lodge, and back again almost to the 
church, and then retraced their steps only to 
return. When, at length, Mrs. Howard entered 
the gate, her brain was whirling. 

Father Stirling himself received Marion at the 
door, and led her into his little study. 


595 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“Are you in a hurry?” he asked. 

"Not particularly; but I am going to the 
Cedars to spend the evening, and should not like 
to keep them waiting longer than I can help.” 

“ I see. Well, there is a woman in the hall 
just at this moment, and I must speak to her. 
Will you come into the next room and stay a 
few minutes, till I am disengaged ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Marion, moving towards the 
door. 

" Stop a minute ; there is a gentleman there 
already, but you need not mind him, it is only 
a very old friend of mine, who has been spending 
an hour or so with me.” He entered the room 
as he spoke, drew his arm-chair of state, as he 
called it, to the fire, and bade her make herself at 
home. 

“ I shall not be longer than I can help,” he said, 
smiling ; “ I dare say I shall be able to despatch 
my visitor in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. 
Will you do the honors for me,” he added, turning 
to his friend, "and remind me to introduce you to 
this lady in due form, when I come back? I will 
not stay to do so now.” 

The afternoon had faded into a dull, dingy 
twilight, and the flickering fire cast an uncertain 
light upon the objects in the room. The stranger, 
who had risen upon their entrance, had resumed 
his seat by the window ; at the further end of the 
apartment, and sat looking out into the garden, as 
though quite engrossed in its dimly visible grass- 
plot and flower-beds. So perfect a silence reigned, 


596 * 


Marion Howard; or, 

that Marion soon forgot her companion’s presence, 
and sat looking very tranquilly into the red coals, 
trying to read Joe Darrell. For once in her life she 
found this a difficult task. Accustomed, as she was, 
to his frank, careless manner, she had never before 
seen the vein of strange determination that now 
seemed to pervade every word and action, and our 
little heroine was puzzled. Whether or not she 
would have succeeded in deciphering Joe, must 
remain a secret, certain it is, she had not proceeded 
far towards doing so, when a voice from the other 
end of the room startled her from her thoughts. 

“ This is a very quiet spot,” observed the stranger, 
who had again risen, and was standing with his 
back against the shutter, looking out with folded 
arms into the fast increasing gloom. 

Slight as was the remark, there was a distinct- 
ness in the tone, a pathos in the voice, that thrilled 
Marion through, and she started perceptibly. 

“Very quiet,” continued the gentleman, as 
though talking to himself, “and so peaceful, one 
might almost imagine it exempt from the usual 
penalties of sin and sorrow.” 

“ But such would be a false imagination,” replied 
Marion, recovering herself; “our people are very 
good, but they both sin and suffer.” 

“ So I suppose. If it were not so, many a 
weary man would seek to pitch his tent in such 
a valley of repose. I, for one, the weariest of the 
weary.” 

At another time it would have struck Marion as 
peculiar, that a stranger should thus allude to the 


Trials and Triumphs. 597 

sorrows of his own life. As it was, she was alive 
to nothing but the tones of his voice, that quivered 
through her heart, like the echo of some old 
familiar song. She knew that she was in the pres- 
bytery parlor, but she knew no more. The past 
and present surged around her, her heart beat 
almost audibly, her very identity seemed fast for- 
saking her. There was again a silence, broken once 
more by the voice. 

“ Father Stirling has great influence here ?” 

“ Very great, his will is law,” she replied, making 
a mighty effort to answer calmly. 

“ Is he much beloved?” 

“ He could not be otherwise, for he loves every 
one.” 

“ Even his enemies ?” asked the stranger. 

“ He has none, except the world, the flesh, and 
the devil.” 

“Three too many for any man. But, if Father 
Stirling has such influence with his children, will he 
employ it, do you think, for me ?” 

“ Why should he not ?” 

“ Because I deserve nothing at his hands. Over 
and above his three great enemies, for many years 
he has had a fourth, and that fourth has been 
myself. He has forgiven me, and we are friends ; 
but could he, think you, gain me the forgiveness of 
another, one who has been even more wronged 
than he ?” 

There was no answer. 

“ Listen, you shall hear. One day I came to 
this very town, full of a bright hope, I left it that 


59S 


Marion Hotvard. 


same evening in bitterness and wrath. I spurned 
a treasure I had coveted for years, and trampled 
under the foot of my pride and bigotry, the heart 

the only woman I had ever loved had yielded 

__ _ >> 

me. 

He paused, but a marble pillar could not have 
been more motionless than his listener, and he 
went on. 

“ She was a fragile creature, but withstood, like a 
rock, the storm of persecution I called down upon 
her. She went on her bleak, strange path, and 
meekly fought her battle with the world. Could 
Father Stirling’s meditation, do you think, gain me 
the forgiveness of this loving, bright-haired, deeply- 
injured woman?” 

He crossed the room as he spoke, and stood 
beside her. 

“ No,” replied Marion, firmly. 

He started, visibly. 

“No,” she continued; “for forgiveness must fol- 
low the commission of a fault, and he who acts from 
conscience, however blindly, never does wrong.” 

“ What would she do, then ? Golden-hair, God 
has shown me the truth, and I too am a Catholic 
now. What would she do ?” 

“The will of God;” and the dancing fire-light 
shone on a flood of golden ringlets bowing very 
low, over hands that were joined in mute thanks- 
giving. 

“Will you not forgive me, Golden-hair?” 

The head was raised, and never did dancing fire- 
light fall on two more radiant faces. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



NOTHER year had passed away, and once 
again the leaves that had budded bright and 
green in the spring were blowing hither and 
thither with a mournful rustle, as the autumn 
wind swept by the turnpike road, and through 
narrow lanes, and across the wet dismal fields. 
How he soughed, and whined, and creaked, and 
whistled, that same sad spirit of the wind ! now 
roaring with a demon voice across the forest and 
athwart the ocean, now moaning his low sad story 
far away among the distant hills. But nowhere 
did he howl among the chimneys, rattle the case- 
ments, or sough among the branches, as he did at 
the Cedars, one dreary, wet November night. 

And yet, except from the echoes of the wind, 
the old house was very hushed. Soft were the 
footfalls that trod the stairs and corridors, and low 
the whispers that fell from time to time from 
anxious voices. It was evening, just the hour of 
the usual social tea-party, but no light hearts were 
gathering to-night. A dark shadow hung over the 
old house, and the day of music and laughter had 
gone by, for the sword of the destroyer was already 
half-unsheathed, and the light of the home already 
quivering in its socket. 


599 


6oo 


Marion Howard ; or ; 

Edith was dying. The cloud, large as a- man's 
hand, had waxed larger throughout the year; the 
little cough had borne its fruit of death, and old 
Turner wept over the fulfilment of her dread. Yes, 
Edie was dying. The truth had dawned at last on 
all, and the frail hope that had borne them up, in 
spite of every fatal symptom, had given way in the 
face of the stern reality. Ten minutes before, all 
had been around her bed, the gray-haired father, 
in the bitter agony of grief restrained, and the 
mother, in the silent stupor of a life-long woe 
unrealized. Joe, too, had been there, changed in 
a few weary days, as only those can change who 
die, or watch the dying. But all these had left 
her; one by one they had stepped away from 
where they dared not linger. Not for worlds 
would they have called back to one throb of 
human sympathy the half-emancipated spirit, nor 
disturbed by human grief the raptures of her super- 
human joy. One watcher only was there, Edward 
Howard, but so changed, and worn, and wasted, 
that when he had arrived that afternoon, even 
Marion had hardly recognized him. 

Edith was asleep, and, as he gazed on the face, 
changed by suffering, but still warm and young, 
not yet fixed, as every feature soon must be fixed, 
in death, tear after tear rolled down his cheek. 
Must she go? Could he live to lose her? With 
what a wild yearning wish he longed to clasp her 
to him, and defying even mortality, to cry, “ I will 
not let thee go!” — “Is this resignation?” whispered 
a still small voice. It was unheard • what had 


Trials and Triumphs . 601 

resignation to do with him ? Was not Edith 
dying ? Was not the day-star gliding from the 
firmament of his life ? Falling on his knees, he 
poured forth a wild and passionate, almost com- 
plaining prayer, that even at this, the eleventh 
hour, the one joy of his life might be spared 
to him. 

“ Edward,” said a voice, almost a whisper — “has 
Edward come ?” 

In an instant he was at her side. 

She extended her thin white hand to him, and 
smiled, as, kneeling beside the couch, he pressed it 
to his lips. 

“Have they told you I am dying ?” she asked. 

“Hush! hush, Edie ! do not talk so ! You are 
very ill just now, but it is only a fresh cold. You 
will get better, love. You look better even now 
than when I first came, indeed you do. Keep up 
your spirits, and all will be well.” 

The young girl smiled, not a sickly smile, but a 
bright, rapturous one, like a sudden flash from 
heaven. “ No, Edward, you must look bravely at 
the truth. I am sinking very fast. But you must 
not give way to grief, for I look to you and 
Marion to make all the others bright. Will you 
try and do this, for my sake ?’’ 

He only bowed his head, but the tear-drops 
rained fast upon the fingers he held in his. 

“ Edward,” she whispered, after a long silence, 
broken only by the ticking of the clock and her 
own short panting breath, “ I did not expect this 
from you. You must be stronger .' 5 

51 


602 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“I cannot, Edie, I cannot! O, why cannot I 
die too ?” 

“ Because it is not the will of God. Listen, 
Edward ; do you believe I love you ?” 

“ Is not your love my one sunbeam ?” 

“ And yet, I am glad to leave you, and to leave 
papa and mamma too, and those I have loved at 
home, who have been more to me than I could ever 
say. But God and heaven are dearer, dearer far; 
and much as you were to me, Edward, in the 
world, I would not change my prospect of dying 
so soon, even to be to you all, we once thought, I 
should have been. Is it not a consolation that we 
shall meet again, if both are faithful, in heaven ? 
Not as we have been here, in sunshine and shadow, 
meeting and parting, but as pure, bright, and yet 
identified spirits, basking in the perpetual presence 
of God ! Edward, mamma is more resigned than 
you. She, with her mother’s love, and weak 
woman’s heart, says bravely, ‘Thy will be done/ 
Will you not say so too ?” 

A groan was the only reply. 

“Papa can say it,” she continued, “and yet I was 
the darling of his old age. Joe whispers it a hun- 
dred times a day, and Emily, dear Emily, although 
I cannot see her, I know well she says it with one 
of her brightest smiles.” 

“ Edie,” he replied, “these are not alone; linked 
together, they bear their griefs in common ; but I, 
fancy my lonely life without you. I, who have 
worked early and late to make you a home, shall I 
live in it alone and desolate ?” 


603 


Trials and Triumphs. 

“ No, Edward, for I believe God calls you to 
higher things. Do you remember Emily’s pro- 
phecy, two years ago ?” 

“ No, darling.” 

“ Not while she was rustling the dead leaves in 
the Mill Lane? She said, ‘You will be a priest, 
and you must say your first mass for Edith, and 
your next for me.’ I do not think I should 
remember these words, so lightly spoken, just now, 
if they had passed with their echo. This, 1 believe, 
Edward, is your true vocation. ‘ Man proposes, 
God disposes,’ and He never meant that I should 
be your wife. As I looked forward, I seem to see 
your future. You will not forget me, I know you 
never will ; but my memory will be a chastened 
thing with you, and when you shall be a priest of 
the Most High God, you will cease to regret one 
who would have kept you from Him. I believe 
you will live to see, even on earth, that the stroke 
that has severed us from each other has united us 
both to Him. Is this thought a bright one?” 
“A little star, Edie, on a very dark sky, that is all; 
and even this star only a thing of the imagination.” 
“ It may be so, but the thought makes me very 
happy. It is enough to satisfy me, that the first 
glimpse of the idea has been to yoi^ even as a little 
star. I feel, in my own heart, that the bright spot 
will grow larger and larger when I am gone, until 
the beauty of one grand thought shall flood your 
soul ; the one grand thought of living for God 
alone. All that is most beautiful on earth hovers 
within the vocation of a priest. After the words 


604 Marion Howard ; or, 

of ordination, one who before was only simple 
natural man, goes forth on his mission, God-like in 
his powers and graces. For he speaks, and the 
Lord of heaven and earth lies beneath his hand, to 
be given to hungering and thirsting multitudes at 
the altar, or to be borne in his bosom, as our dear 
Lord will soon be borne to me, to light up the dark 
valley of the shadow of death. Again he speaks, 
and chains of sin that have rusted around their 
victim, fall from the sinner at his word, and he 
who was bound in iron fetters goes forth free. To 
attend the sick and dying, to comfort the weary, 
to feed the hungry, to teach the ignorant the one 
bright truth of God — is not this a higher, a far 
higher future than to spend a few short years with 
me ? O ! Edward, my first, my last, my only love, 
the latest thought of earth that will cling to me 
here below, will be a thought of this !” 

She sank back exhausted, and closed her eyes. 
“This has been too much for you, Edie,” cried 
Edward, starting to his feet, seriously alarmed, 
“and it was all for me!” 

“ No,” she returned, gently. “ I am only a little 
tired ; I shall be better directly. I cannot talk 
more to you now, much as I have that I could say; 
but, remember, my words, Edward, although for 
nothing would I have them bind you. Not one 
earthly motive must mingle with such a thou ght 
as this. A vocation is the voice of God, and the 
power to follow it, God’s work alone.” 

“Yes, yes,” he whispered, as, once more sinking 
on his knees, he buried his face beside her. 


605 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ May God bless you for evermore,” said the 
young girl, and, collecting her remaining strength, 
she raised his cold hand from the bed, and pressed 
it to her lips. 

For two more days the lamp of life wavered and 
flickered, but, as the night of the second day 
closed in, all plainly saw that another sun would 
never raise for Edith Darrell. And yet not a sob, 
far less a murmur, broke the sweet silence of that 
chamber, when the angel of resignation hovered 
hand in hand with her sister death. Calmly, even 
as in days gone by she had helped the twins to 
arrange their altar, Marion, with noiseless footfall 
placed a table, with a crucifix and four lighted 
tapers by the bedside, and, as Father Stirling 
entered the room with slow and reverent step, even 
death was forgotten in the presence of its Victor. 
For who shall tell the thrill of rapture that ran 
through each weary heart,, even in this dark hour 
of desolation, as the Sun of the Christian life 
flooded with his beams the shadows of the sick 
chamber ? 

Edith had been administered, and had received 
her last communion, and now, upon her mother’s 
arm, slept her last earthly sleep. Father, brother, 
lover, friends, were grouped around her bed, and 
Father Stirling, very white and sad, knelt beside 
the child he had moulded with such earnestness for 
heaven. At length she stirred. 

“ Mamma.” 

“ My child ?” 

“You will not stop long, not very long, will you?” 

51 * 


6o6 


M avion Howard ; or> 

• “ I hope not, darling.” 

“ Where is papa ?” 

A pressure of the hand was the only answer. 

“ Father Stirling?” 

Even the mother made way for him, and he bent 
over her. 

“ Tell Edward — ” the words were lost. 

“Tell him what, dear child?” 

“Tell him,” she whispered, collecting all her 
remaining strength, “ to do the will of God, only 
the will of God.” 

They were her last words. Five minutes later, 
amid the sobs of breaking hearts, Father Stirling 
was praying for the dead. 

It was in the little chamber where Marion had 
first seen her ei ght years before, that Edie was laid 
in death, calm and cold, but even more beautiful 
than life. Two watchers were there, Marion and 
her brother, the latter kneeling and gazing on the 
marble face, striving to realize his loss. 

“Will you stay here for a few minutes, if I go 
down stairs?” she asked, for she felt that he wished 
to be alone. 

“ I will. O ! Golden-hair, you alone are left, me 
now !” He rose and sank into a chair, and draw- 
ing her to him, rested his head upon her. 

What could she say to comfort him, while death 
laid there beside them in all its iciness ? She stood 
perplexed, and stooped and kissed his forehead. 

“You have been very brave, dear; and she was 
so happy to go, that it would be wrong to sorrow 
much. Edward, my brother, how many times 


607 


Trials and Triumphs. 

darker your shadow would be, if you were uot a 
Catholic.” 

“ I know it,” he replied ; “ but it is very heavy 
as it is, very, very heavy, Golden-hair. But I must 
not keep you, my child,” he added, rising*; “for I 
fancy Lisle has arrived; if so, I would not detain 
you from him for a minute. Go and see, God bless 
you.” 

When she had left him, he once more approached 
the bed, and removed the veil that Marion had laid 
over the face of the dead. Again lie sank upon 
his knees, and tried to pray, but he felt hard and 
stony, and far away from God. 

“ How can I pray for her,” he whispers, at 
length ; “pray for her as one still suffering for sin ? 
I cannot do it. I cannot fa ncy her anywhere but 
in heaven. O! Edie, Edie ! pray for me instead,” 
and a paroxysm of passionate grief burst from his 
lips. As he grew more tranquil, shocked at his 
own vehemence, a hand was laid upon his shoulder. 

“ Is this as it ought to be, my friend ?” 

Edward glanced for an instant at the speaker, 
then buried his face once more in his hands. 

“ Is this as it ought to be ?” repeated Father 
Stirling; “or, is it as she would have it be?” 

There was no answer, and the priest, walking 
slowly around the bed, in his turn raised the hand- 
kerchief from the face of the dead. 

“She looks very happy, very peaceful,” he said, 
softly, after a few moments’ pause. 

The young man rose, and placed himself beside 
the priest, who still held the handkerchief in his 


6oS 


Marion Howard ; or, 

hand. “What else could the sunset be, of such a 
life as hers,” he asked, “ but a peaceful one ?” 

“ Will you say the De Profundis with me ?” 
inquired the priest. 

“Why should we say it, Father; she does not 
need it?” 

“How so?” asked the priest, with a sad smile. 
r What sins has she to expiate?” demanded 
Edward, almost fiercely. 

“ The heavens are not clean in the sight of God, 
and his angels he charges with folly. What then 
is earthly purity? Do be reasonable, dear Edward. 
What would she say to this, in her sweet humility, 
think you ?” 

“You are right,” replied Edward; “grief has 
made me mad, I think;” and he responded as 
calmly to the prayer as though it had been offered 
for a stranger. 

“ Do you remember,” asked the priest, when it 
was concluded, “that I was the last person to whom 
Edith spoke ?” 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ Shall I tell you what she said ?” 

“Yes, do; pray, do.” 

“ These, then, were her last words : tell Ed- 
ward — ” 

“Edward! Did she speak of me?” 

“ Tell Edward to do the will of God ; only the 
will of God.” 

“ Was that all ?” 

“Yes, all, and it was her last request, dear 
Edward ; but, indeed you are not fulfilling it.” 


Trials and Triumphs . 609 

“You believe her words meant resignation?” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

“Yes, but they meant more; sit in that chair, 
and I will tell you all,” and in the chamber of 
death Edward Howard told the priest the whole 
of his last conversation with his betrothed. No 
one disturbed them, all by intuition left to them- 
selves ; and though the daylight faded quite away, 
and the waxen tapers cast a sad funereal glow 
upon them, still they talked on, in low whispers, 
as though they feared to wake the sleeper at their 
side. For not till peace, and hope, and perfect 
resignation reigned in the bosom of his sorrowing 
friend, did Father Stirling leave him and the silent 
chamber, to join the mournful party, in the hardly 
less silent drawing-room below. 

“Is he better?” asked Henry Fisle, grasping the 
priest’s hand, as he entered. 

“ Much better, almost himself.” 

“Thank God!” cried Mrs. Darrell, “for I began 
to fear we were to lose him too.” 

He was better; the bitterness that had tortured 
his soul had melted away before the soft words 
of charity and gentle reproach that had been 
poured into it, and he could even look on the 
sweet white face before him with a smile. 

“Tell Edward to do the will of God,” he re- 
peated, softly. “Amen! Amen! Yes, whitherso- 
ever it shall lead me, Edie, even to giving you up 
willingly;” he paused; “yes, willingly to God. 
Father, in this, as in all things, may Thy will be 
done !” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 




Father dunstan?” 

\ J “ PI ait -il y Monsieur? 

“ Le pere Anglais .” 

“Ah, oui , oui , monsieur. Traverses done la 
cour, et entrez au petit parloir la en face,je le ferai 
appelerP and the Englishman and his bride crossed 
the square of the old Dominican convent, and 
entered the plain little parlor to await “ le pere 
Anglais A 


“ It is very quiet here,” remarked the lady, taking 
one of the rush chairs. 

“Very; one would hardly imagine that the life 
of a great city whirled past the doors. But it is 
very dull and gloomy-looking, even to-day; indeed, 
I think this June sunshine falling upon the white 
unshaded flags, makes it look even more so by the 
contrast. Much as I admire the order of St. Domi- 
nic, I cannot imagine a vocation that would have 
led me here.” 

“ No one can say what he would, or would not 
do under other circumstances,” replied the lady; 
“ for myself, I fancy if I were a rcligieuse , this is just 
the spot I should like to be in. Solitude in the 
very midst of a large sphere of action.” 

“ O, Marion, if you had only seen the lovely 
610 


4 

Trials and Triumphs . 611 

convents I have sometimes met with, sheltered 
among hills, embowered in trees, or buried in 
peaceful valleys bright with flowers, you would not 
say so.” 

“ Yes, Harry, I would. In this world I love and 
admire these things very much, but were I conse- 
crated to God, I would not have nature itself divide 
my love, but would wish to live and labor for Him, 
and Him alone.” 

“ Enthusiastic child !” exclaimed the husband, 
smiling; “but to come down to common-place 
affairs, do you know that I have had two letters 
this morning, one from Edward, and the other 
from Joe ? I meant to have brought them with 
me,” he continued, “but I find I have left them on 
my dressing-table. It is a pity, for I could have 
read them to you, as we are sure to be kept waiting 
some time. That is, I believe, ‘a rule without 
an exception/ observed with regard to convent 
visitors.” 

“Did either of them say anything particular?” 
“Nothing. Edward’s was full of young men’s 
associations, clothing societies, and poor-schools; 
Joe’s, like himself, John Bull to the letter as usual.” 
“ Poor, dear boys. I am glad they are well. Did 
you not think they both looked particularly happy 
the day we were married ?” 

“ Edward did, and was, for I believe he thought 
Golden-hair’s happiness secured, and I trust in 
God that his confidence may not be misplaced ; but 
Joe was masked to the life.” 

“Do you think so?” 


612 Marion Howard ; or , 

“Do I not know it, you little puss? Ah, Ma- 
rion, if ever you get half the devotion from your 
husband, that you have had, and still have, from 
him, you will be one wife in a hundred. ,, 

“ Harry !” 

“ You will, for Joe Darrell did that for your sake 
and your happiness, that, dearly as I love you, I 
never could have done.” 

“In what way?” 

“ He labored with every energy to remove the 
obstacle that lay between you and another. Ma- 
rion, I have known that boy steal into my room 
after I have been in bed, and stand beside me half 
the night, trying with all his powers of eloquence, 
to teach me some Catholic truth. At one time, in 
Germany, he slept in a room next to mine, where 
he had a little iron bedstead that creaked if he only 
stirred. Often, for two or three hours after he has 
left me, I have not heard a sound, and once I grew 
so fidgety about him, that in my turn I arose and 
went quietly to his room, and I found the bed still 
undisturbed and Joe upon his knees. And his 
prayers and perseverance did their work, for, 
stranger as I believed Joseph Fortescue to be 
to me and mine, I felt there must be something in 
a religion that could make a young man as earnest 
as this. Looking at you by my side, Golden-hair, 
my own little wife, I feel there is nothing I could 
not have done to gain you : but to labor to lose you ! 
only an angel, or Joe Darrell, could have done that.” 

“Poor Joe! How sad to think that he is not 
happy.” 


6 1 3 


Trials and Triumphs . 

“ I do not say that, for a nature such as his, must 
be happy in the odor of its own good actions. Joe 
will be a rich man too, and universally loved and 
respected, but his will be a lonely life.” 

“ I wish he would take a fancy to Jessie Seymour, 
for I am sure she likes him.” 

“But is in noway suited to him,” replied Mr. 
Lisle. 

And here followed such a long dissertation on 

o 

the suitability and unsuitability of husbands and 
wives in general, that though a full half hour 
passed by, it was not until a church clock in the 
neighborhood struck the hour, that Henry Lisle 
remembered he was waiting, and had a right to be 
impatient. 

“ Really, these holy fathers keep their visitors 
waiting a most tremendous time,” he exclaimed, 
rising to survey the quadrangle through the open 
glass door; “why, this is worse than going to see 
Emily.” 

“ I wonder whether he is changed.” 

“Not much, my dear, I should imagine; he has 
only left us, remember, twelve months.” 

At this moment a door opened suddenly, and a 
friar in the Dominican habit stood before them. 

“ George!” cried Henry Lisle, grasping his hand. 

“Father Stirling!” and joy inexpressible beamed 
from Marion’s blue eyes; “I am so glad to see 
you.” 

“And so am I glad to see you,” returned the 
friar; “and would not have kept you waiting so 
long, but we were at Office. When I heard that 


614 


Marion Howard ; or, 

an English lady and gentleman were waiting for me, 
I immediately guessed they were Mr. and Mrs. 
Lisle,” and he laughed as in old times, as he pro- 
nounced the latter name. 

“You look very well,” observed Mr. Lisle. 

“And seem very happy,” added Marion. 

“ So I am, dear child, so I am ; well, you look 
happy, too.” 

“ Ought I not to be so ?” asked Marion, behind 
her curls. 

“ Most decidedly ; but you think I have not 
such good reason to felicitate myself, I can see.” 

“ No, I do not, for I know you will be happy 
wherever you are; but I think you might have 
stayed with us, you could not be better than you 
were.” 

“Does she flatter you like that, Henry? But 
now tell me, have you two been so engrossed in 
each other, that you have forgotten to bring me 
any news? You know, I am a regular old gossip. 
First of all, please to remember, I am quite in the 
dark as to the chain of events that have given me 
the honor of this visit. Not very long since, I had 
a letter from a certain friend of mine, speaking of 
himself as neither flesh nor fowl, clerk nor layman, 
and lamenting his limited resources, which, unless 
he could find something to augment them, must 
postpone his marriage sine die . Most sincerely he 
had my sympathy, and I wrote and told him so, 
although, looking on his lot from a Christian point 
of view, it was so rich in crosses, that I could not 
help slyly congratulating him in my heart. Not 


‘Trials and Triumphs. 


615 


six months afterwards, I get a hurried scrawl, tell- 
ing me to expect a visit from him on his wedding 
trip. Now, I certainly have enough of Mother Eve 
in me to want to know how all this has come about.” 

“ It will not be a very long story. Do you 
remember my father’s old Uncle Saunders?” 

“Very well; and what a comical old soul he 
was.” 

“You remember his quarrel with my father, 
upon some point of Sabbath observance ?” 

“ Of course I do, and that he actually altered his 
will in consequence.” 

“Yes, in favor of some very distant relations. 
Well, then, he died about four months since, and 
they in their turn having offended him, he has left 
the whole of a very substantial fortune to my sister 
Agnes and myself. As the disinherited parties are 
already rich, and there never was a shadow of 
justice, or common sense, in the alteration of the 
original will, most thankfully have I accepted my 
portion.” 

“And where do you purpose pitching your tent?” 

“ Now, you must prepare for a surprise. The 
fact is, linked as the old house is with the past, it 
has not unnaturally grown distasteful to Mr. and 
Mrs. Darrell. They have, therefore, taken a house 
for themselves and Joe in London, and I have 
purchased the Cedars.” 

“And long may you live to enjoy it, my dear • 
friend. Changes ! changes ! changes !” 

“ Changes !” repeated Henry Lisle ; “there have 
been so many lately, that I sometimes begin to 


6 1 6 


Marion Howard ; or , 

question my own identity, and feel ready to declare, 
like the old woman in the story book, ‘ I’m sure it 
can’t be I.’ Imagine, George, if on the day of my 
ordination, I — ” 

“Just hark at him, ‘ My ordination !’ When were 
you ordained, I should like to know?” 

“ Well, then, on the day I went to sleep and 
dreamed that I was ordained. Will that do? 
Imagine if I could have looked forward and seen 
myself a layman, calling on you, a monk !” 

“The latter would not have surprised you much, 
would it? for I had shown you my horns and hoofs 
by then.” 

“ I know you had, but strange as I thought you, 
I never dreamed of such a step as this.” 

“ Nor I,” said the rcligieux , gravely. “ God 
unfolds his purposes very slowly. How is Ed- 
ward ?” 

“Just as you would have him — heart and soul 
in his work. He will soon have his tonsure. I 
called on him the week before last, to tell him the 
day that had been fixed for the wedding, and I 
saw the superior of the community. He told me 
that he had rarely met with so earnest a character 
as Edward Howard’s in his life. His one grand 
thought seems to be the preservation and reclama- 
tion of young men. To hear him talk, one would 
imagine that he had never had another aim in his 
life.” 

“He could not have a higher aim, nor a wider 
field to work in, than he will have in London. I 
suppose he did not mention Edith.” 


Trials and Triumphs. 6 1 7 

“Yes, he did, in congratulating me.” 

“What did he say ?” asked the priest, bending 
his gray eyes anxiously upon him, for he was 
thinking of a struggle he had once witnessed in a 
very still room. 

“ These were his words : ‘ I could never have 
imagined that the day could come, when I could 
say truthfully, I do not envy you. But I say so 
to-day ; Edith was right, this is my true vocation- 
All my life, even her love, has been a preparation 
for it, and the shadows of the past are now quite 
merged in the glory of the great work that lies 
before me.’ ” 

“ Thank God, thank God !” said the priest. 
“Truly you have a noble-hearted brother, Mrs. 
Lisle.” 

Marion started at the name so unfamiliar in his 
lips. 

“Ah, my child,” he continued, rubbing his 
hands, “once upon a time we little thought you 
would ever bear that name !” 

“ Or that somebody else would be called Father 
Dunstan, instead of his good old Scotch name, 
that had served his family so long,” exclaimed 
Henry Lisle. 

“ See how he is down upon me,” cried Father 
Dunstan, laughing heartily. “ Do you mean to 
say you are not yet Catholic enough to have a 
devotion for St. Dunstan ? Why, man, he was 
one of the greatest champions the Church ever 
had.” 

“So I suppose, but I have somehow an un- 


6 1 S 


Alar ion Howard ; or y 

pleasant association with him of a hot pair of 
tongs, that I cannot quite get rid of.” 

“Ah, little lady, this husband of yours carries 
a good share of Protestantism about with him 
even yet, I can see.” 

“ No, really, Father, he is getting to be a very 
good Catholic, though I think yesterday you would 
have been rather shocked at us both, if you could 
have heard the very unorthodox meditation we 
were making in the train. Shall I say what it was, 
Harry?” 

“If you like; but prepare yourself for a scold- 
ing.” 

Father Dunstan laughed. “What a dragon you 
make the old father out to be! Come, Mrs. Lisle, 
I am not going to scold, so give me the result of 
the meditation.” 

“ It was only this, that what is so often said 
by people out of the Church, about Protestant 
countries being more civilized than Catholic ones, 
seems really to be true. How is it?” 

“ First of all, I am not going to admit the 
statement, you may rest assured, though if it were 
true, and Catholic countries were in the lowest 
condition of civil, and if you will, of literary de- 
gradation, and if all Protestant ones were models 
of human advancement and research, I should only 
reply that it proved that the good things of heaven 
and the good things of earth were in the inverse 
ratio of each other. If it were not so, if religious 
truth and human prosperity always went hand in 
hand, what a glorious worship that of the sun 


Trials and Triumphs. 


619 


must have been, if we are to judge of it by its 
temple at Palmyra. What an amount of holiness, 
too, must have concentred in the Egyptian’s ado- 
ration of his cats, dogs, and mummies, if we are to 
gauge it by the breadth of his cities, the height of 
his pyramids, and the glory of his sciences. There 
have been Hindoo temples, Carthaginian temples, 
Mexican temples, whose magnitude and grandeur 
one must have seen to realize — was the shadow of 
God in them, or in the tent of badger skins, over 
the Mercy-seat in the wilderness ? Are there not 
Protestant lands, Protestant cities, Protestant insti- 
tutions, on which the ghost of the ancient Roman 
from the ruins of his Coliseum, or of the Athenian 
from his Acropolis, would look down in scorn ? 
What may be said of men collectively, as nations, 
may be said of them individually, remember. Was 
the truth with the rich and prosperous citizens 
who rambled through Nero’s pleasure-grounds to 
enjoy his feast, or with the miserable Christians 
who burnt in wax and resin to light up their 
amusements? Is it Dives who inherits the reward, 
or the beggar Lazarus, who lies at his gate ? — the 
poor man with his woes, his want of civilization, 
and his ignorance of this world’s lore, who shall find 
it hard to enter heaven, as ‘the camel to go through 
the needle’s eye,’ or he who is rich in goods, 
deep in wisdom, standing in the high places? 
Human prosperity the touch-stone of religious 
truth ! Henry Lisle ! Henry Lisle ! divine of the 
English Church ! student of the Protestant Bible 
from your youth, surely, surely, you must have 


620 


Marion Howard ; or> 


read it bottom upwards, or you could have an- 
swered your little wife yourself.” 

“ No doubt I did,” exclaimed the gentleman 
thus apostrophized, laughing heartily; “the wor- 
thy father must have made a mental reservation 
though, Marion, when he promised not to scold 
you, that he would give me a double dose 
instead.” 

“Well, it is rather too bad, I must confess,” 
replied the priest, “though, if I am too hard upon 
you, you must forgive me, just as you used many 
years ago, when I sometimes gave you an extra 
dig in an amicable fight. You have not told me 
yet how you like my successor.” 

“ I have seen very little of him, but Marion says 
he gets on very well.” 

“Very well, but he finds it no enviable path to 
follow you. He is young and inexperienced, and 
must spend many more years of love, and strength, 
before his flock will love him, and obey him, as 
they loved and obeyed Father Stirling.” 

The priest’s eyes glistened, but he only raised 
his rosary, and pressed a wire. 

“ God bless them all, my poor dear children,” he 
murmured gently, as he let it fall. “ Is Turner a 
Catholic yet?” 

“No, just as far off as ever, but just as firm in 
her * creed of faith, hope, and charity,’ as you once 
styled it.” 

“ Enough to take her to heaven, simple old soul. 
How is Mr. Gardiner ?” 

“The same. He has been lately preaching a set 


Trials and Triumphs . 


621 


of sermons, to prove every word of the Anglican 
prayer-book conformable to her creed/’ 

“ What a clever man he must be ! Of course he 
commenced by defining that creed. The best way 
to do that, I should imagine, would be to add 
High -church, Low-church, Middle-church, and 
Broad-church up together, and take the average. 
If I had been in my old post, I think I would have 
proposed that to him before he began. It might 
have given him a wrinkle. How is his cara sposa /” 
“ What Joe says she always was, his master.” 

“ Poor man, he has his good points though, and 
so has she.” 

“ But they are stifled beneath that ' clerical pride* 
that spoils half the Anglican clergymen and their 
families,” said Henry Lisle. 

“ What a strange thing that is !” said Father 
Dunstan, shaking his head gravely. 

“But no less strange than true,” replied the 
other, “ no less strange than true.” 

“ When did you last see Emily ?” asked the 
priest, turning to Marion. 

“ About a month since.” 

“And how did she look?” 

“ More beautiful than ever, if possible, and so 
bright and cheerful. Something brought up poor 
Edith’s name, and she talked of her just as natu- 
rally as I should talk of seeing mamma, when we 
go back. It almost seemed as she spoke, as 
though death were a white angel.” 

“Do you always then fancy him a black one?” 
“Yes. Does he not seem so to you, Father?” 


622 


LI avion Howard ; or } 

“ No, no. Lustrous in his whiteness, bright an‘d 
flashing as the chariot that bore Elias to his rest. 
It is a great mistake, my child, to invest this 
radiant form with aught of gloom or terror, or to 
look upon our greatest friend as an enemy. It is 
good for us to be here, but better to be in heaven.” 

Marion stole a glance at a pair of eyes, bent 
fondly upon her. 

“Yes, better to be in heaven,” repeated the friar, 
smiling, “though it is hard, I know, to think so, in 
the first flush of a great earthly joy. But, as I said 
just now, it is good for us to be here. Good, 
whether our path shall lead through the sweet 
communion of married life, or the silent life of 
the cloister, provided it be ever onward, upward, 
heavenward, Godward. You must not forget that 
this is no abiding city, and you will not forget it, 
but, side by side, you will pass to that better hea- 
ven, helping each other forward. All that I wish 
for you,” he added solemnly, almost reverently, “ I 
cannot speak. For Henry Lisle, son of my bene- 
factor, and friend of my youth, or for his little 
wife, my own child in Christ. No, no, I cannot tell 
you all I wish, all I pray for. On earth,” he con- 
tinued, with a kindling eye, “ the spirit cannot find 
utterance for its greatest thoughts, its strongest 
sympathies, its deepest yearnings, but in that Bet- 
ter Land, that shining, lustrous realm of the Here- 
after, the spirit’s voice shall be loosed, and then, if 
we be but faithful, you shall read the uttermost 
depths of what I this day feel.” 

“ Father,” whispered Marion, after a short pause, 


623 


Trials and Triumphs. 

u do you mean to say that you will never come 
back to England ?” 

“ In all human probability, never.” 

“ Does not this grieve you ?” 

No, my child; if a little feeling of home sick- 
ness ever comes over me, I think of the Land we 
were just now talking of, the only Fatherland of 
the Dominican.” 

“ But you have not yet taken the step that binds 
you irrevocably to this order,” said Mr. Lisle, 
anxiously. 

“ Not yet, but I trust soon to do so.” 

“ Then let me say just one word, George, my 
dear old friend. Had your life been in England a 
useless one, I could have rejoiced in it; had it 
been an unconsecrated one, I could have under- 
stood it ; but living as you did, everv thought and 
sympathy given to God, why should you leave 
us?” 

“ Because He so willed it.” 

“ I cannot think it, indeed ; indeed I cannot, your 
life at Harleyford was so useful ! Who is to con- 
vert the Protestants there now ?” 

“Father Dalton, while I do my best to reclaim 
infidels.” 

“But, your poor?” pleaded Marion. 

“Are around me here,” replied the priest. 

“ But we miss you so much, father, so very 
much ; the whole place seems altered now.” 

“ Poor Father Dalton, I am sure, from what I 
saw of him, is a most zealous young man, and 
yet you quite leave him out in your calculations.” 


624 


Marion Howard ; or , 

“Yes, he is very good, but he need not leave, 
even if you come back ; he could stay and help 
you.” 

“Little temptress!” 

“ No indeed — but if you had only told us, father, 
that you were going for good ! — but to leave us 
for a month, and then never to return — it was 
very cruel !” And Marion burst into tears. 

“ Come, come. What ! crying in the honey- 
moon ! Henry, do you allow this ?” 

“ I cannot blame her for what, if I were a 
woman, I should do myself.” 

“ I must not rely on your assistance, I can see,” 
replied the priest, smiling ; “ the last injunction then 
that the old father shall lay on Marion Howard of 
other days, shall be, that if ever she gives him a 
thought, it shall be with a prayer, not a tear. Will 
she obey it ?” 

“ She will,” said Marion, drying her eyes. 

“And now,” said the priest, “there is one thing 
I have just remembered I had to say to you. 
Notwithstanding the careful inventory I thought I 
had made of all my worldly goods, one item, and 
that rather a bulky one, has been omitted. If you 
will accept it, Henry, it is yours ; it will, I know, 
bring back many a treasured reminiscence to your 
wife.” 

“ Of course I will accept it properly, and with 
thanks.” 

“ Do not be too sure, it is by no means either a 
treasure or a beauty.” 

“What is it?” 


Trials and Triumphs . 625 

"Old Rufus.” 

“ O ! father!” cried Marion, “I would rather 
have him than anything in the world. I will ride 
him myself as long as he lives.” 

“ Or as long as you do, which would probably be 
five minutes after you mounted him. They say 
you must not ‘look a gift horse in the mouth,’ but 
I would advise you to look at him on all sides, 
before you accept him, for he has neither beauty, 
value, nor temper.” 

“ But he belonged to George Stirling, and while 
there is corn and grass-land in my possession, he 
shall have his share,” replied Henry Lisle. 

“ You will find him then in the paddock, behind 
the presbytery, whither he was transferred last 
week from the stables of the Green Dragon, where, 
to judge by the bill I received for him, he must 
have been * eating his own head off* for the last 
six months.” 

“ Yes, I saw him in the paddock the day before 
we left,” said Marion ; “ nor was I the only one who 
did so. If you could have heard the exclamations 
of the village children when they recognized him 
through the hedge, you would never have forgotten 
it. * Father Stirling’s horse ! Father Stirling’s 
horse !’ I am sure they fancied he was only a herald 
to his rider. Father, father, how deeply you are 
loved in Harleyford ! How can you leave us?” 

“No man living, my child,” he replied solemnly, 
“has not his earthly fetters, and mine indeed were 
wreaths of flowers. How I loved you all, God only 
knows. ‘ The lines had fallen to me in pleasant 
53 


626 


Marion Howard ; or y 

places.’ Do not think your pastor has left you 
without regret, many a tendril was wrenched and 
broken when he tore his heart from its old resting- 
place, but it is over now, and truly, he is a happy 
man.” 

“And so am I happy,” said Henry Lisle, laying 
his hand on the shoulder of his little bride. 

“ And so are you happy,” repeated the Domini- 
can, smiling benevolently on them. “ Each of us, 
I trust, fulfilling his vocation, as God would have 
him.” 

Half an hour later, Father Dunstan stood alone, 
while the echo of a closing gate still rang upon 
his ear. It is not often monks indulge in reveries, 
what could he be thinking of? It would be hard 
to guess, gentle reader, for athwart his face there 
ran a varying expression, like the lights and 
shadows of an April landscape. Did the words of 
an old friend, and the pleading glance of a little 
fragile figure still hover around him? Perhaps. It 
may be that the reverie was a thing of human re- 
gret, and superhuman hopes, of earthly temptations, 
and celestial trust and confidence. But even as he 
lingered, the sound of the vesper bell stole along 
the corridors, and home, friends, and kindred, were 
soon forgotten, as the glorious notes floated up- 
ward from the white-robed choir: 

“ Laudate Dominum omnes gentes, 

Laudate eum omnes populi/' 

And Golden-hair tripped through the streets 
of the foreign city by her husband’s side, joy 


627 


Trials and Triumphs . 

in her step, light in her eye, love in her over- 
flowing heart. Sweet little Golden-hair ! Twenty 
times a day Henry Lisle pressed the little hand, to 
be sure of its identity. Was it possible 1 Could it 
be true ! 

Old Rufus has now, for many a day, been trot- 
ting around his new master’s fields, and has grown 
so subdued with increase of years, that even a 
little Marion has been held upon his back. For 
many a day too, a son of St. Dominic has been 
passing silently on his humble path, little known 
in the land of strangers. And yet he is not for- 
gotten, — not forgotten in the little church with the 
gilded tabernacle, in the cottage homes of Harley- 
ford, or beneath the cedars; for kindly words, and 
loving deeds, live long in the hearts of men : not 
forgotten in the Fatherland, where the Lord of the 
harvest, with His Own Hand garners the sheaves 
that have grown on this poor earth, and where, at 
the great Harvest-home, the laborers who shall 
have borne the heat of the day shall find the fruit 
of their toil faithfully stored for Eternity. 



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out in the most vivid colors, though the account is almost entirely taken f:om 
the ancient Acts, the authenticity of which is ab:y vindicated by tho learned 
author. He then gives an account of the Church, built at her own request on 
the spot wnere she suffered. This goes over a period of over sixteen hundred 
years. It has oeen, uu ring all that time, one of the most clearly cliei ished sanctu- 
aries of Rome. The inciuental accounts of various matters connected with the 
history of the Saint and her Church, are themselves sulilcient to give great inter- 
est to the volume, we hardly know which to admire most in this work — the 
information impartea on many most interesting topic*, the healthy tone of the 
work, so well calculated to enliven faith, and cherish a devout spirit, or the 
beauty of the style of the author who nas weaved the whole iutoS) interesting 
a narrative, that no romance can vie with this truthful account of the patroness 
of song . — Baltimore Cathode Mirror. 

We are glad to see that the American public have been favored with this very 
interesting work. While the name of the author is a guarantee for historical 
accuracy, and learned research, the period of which it treats is one of great in- 
terest to the Catholic. In these paces one can learn the manners and customs of 
the early Christians, ana their sufferings, and gain no i ittie insight into their 
daily life. The devotion to the Saints is becoming daily more practical, and we 
are glao to see revived the memory of the ancient heroes and heioines whom tne 
Church has honored in a special manner. The mechanical execution of the 
American edition is very good . — Catholic Standard. 

We cannot sufficiently admire ana commend to the attention of our readers, 
young and old, this delightful work. The tenderness and exquisite refinement 
ana purity wnich surround, like a veil, the character of toe lovely St. Cecilia, 
serve to throw into stronger relief the unfaltering courage by which she won tno 
crown of martyrdom. T he author has made use of all the authentic and import- 
ant detai s connected with the life ana death of tiie Sunn, following toe most 
approved authorities. The discoveries of her tomb in the ninth ana sixteenth 
centuries form not the least interesting portion of the work, and die description 
of the churcn, which was once ner dwelling and the witness of hex 1 sufferings and 
triumphs, brings those scenes so vividly before us that Ceciiia seem* t>< belong 
as much to our own day as to the period when young, beautiful, wealthy and 
accomplished, the virgin bride of the noble Valerian laid down her life for the 
martyr’s crown of faith. — N. Y. Tablet. 


8 


Published by Peter P, Cunningham, 


Mr. Cunningham, of Philadelphia, has earned a new claim on our g r atitu-ie by 
publishing the LIFE Op’ SAlN T CECILIA, ViiiGIN AND MARTYR. 1 b-s 
Acts oi tier martyrdom are a monument of the wouderfm wats.it Cod, ami? most 
sweet record ot Cnristian heroism, heavenly love, and piodigious c< nsrancy. 
lier very name lias inspired Christianity tor fifteen centuries, with courage, and 
the nobiest aspirations, ine work is a translation t'r* m the French of Fru.stMcr 
G« rrangtr. We iiave lia t uniy time to read tne title, prtiace, and a few page* 
hr lore going to press, But we can say this much, that it was a very nappy 
thought to undertake this translation, and we know of no other book w<* shoula 
like to see in tne hands of Catholics so much as the LIFE OP' SAINT CiiCiLl A, 
VIRGIN AND MARTYR . — lioaton Pitot. 

Mr. Peter F. Cunningham has just brought out, in very admirable style, the 
1 Life of St. Cecilia, ” lrom the F.ench of the celebrated loom. Guerangtr. It 
is diiflcult to finu a more delightful volume than this. Its subject is i>we of 
the most attractive in ail the annals of the Church: and i:s au.hor one rf the 
most pious and gifted of modern French writers: the result is one of the most 
charming contributions ever made to Catholic literature. As intimated . the 
publisher has done nis part in printing, in paper, anil in binding. We n turn 
him thanks for a copy . — FhUadeipnia Uniter, e, Oct. G. 

This is a most interesting volume, truer than history and stranger than fic- 
tion. The author does not oonfine nimseif to the detai.s'of the faint’s life and 
martyrdom, but describes, with the faithfulness and minuteness of an antiquary, 
the wondeisof Imperial and Christian Roine--the catacombs, the basilicas, the 
manners of the times, the persecutions of the Christians, etc. r lhe book is 
handsomely got up, and en.iched with a portrait of tt. Cecilia seated at her 
harp. — jV. Y. Met. liecord. 

We have received this beautiful and very interesting life of one of the most 
beautiful Saints of the Church Tne reading public ought to be much obliged 
to the Publisher for giving them such a work. It abounds in the sublimest 
sentiments of divine love and human devotion, such as Catholics would expect 
from tne life of such a Saint ; and at the same time portrays the combat of rising 
Christianity and decaying paganism in the livelist colors. Such works as this 
form the proper staple of reading for all who desire to become acquainted with 
tne period to which it refers, ami who cannot afford t > purchase dr peruse the 
more profound works of our Historians. — Western N. Y. Catholic. 

The name of the learned and religious Abbot of Solesmes Dorn. Gueranger, 
was long since maue familiar and pieasant to us, in the pages of Chevalier 
Bonnetty’s learned periodical, the Annales de philosophic Chntienne, pub- 
lished in Paris. In the nag^s of his “ Life of St. Cecilia” — which we have not 
met with in the French, — we have the same high talent devoted to other than 
liturgic themes. This is an admirable volume, well translated. The quiet 
styie in whicn the story is told of the great honor with which Catholic ages 
have crowned St. Cecilia, is charming. — aY. Y. Freeman'’ s Journal. 



Jifc of St. Agsies of Home, Virgin and Martyr 




Published with the approbation of the Right Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 
I voi. IStno., neatly bound in cloth, with a beautiful steel plate Per* 
trait of the “ Youthful Martyr of Rome.” 

Price 50 cents* 

^San's Contract with God in Baptism. 


Translated from the French by Rev. J. M. Cullen. 1 vol., 18mo. 

Price .. 50 ceftUk 



9 


Published by Peter F. Cunningham, 



©F St. Aloysitas Go&ftzaga, 
Of flie Society of Jesus. 


Edited by Edward Ilealy Thompson. Published with the approbation of th* 

ewi n'n ® PhitoddphM. 1 vol., 12mo., neat cloth, beveled, $1.50. 

Cloth, Gilt, $2.00. 


This is the best life of the Saint yet published in the English language 
and should be read by both the young and old. * 


nr 

• ^ Bae Isite of Sf . Stanislas Eostka of Ike Society 


©f Jesus. 


T 


By Edward Healy Thompson, A.M. 

Published with the approbation of the Right Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 

1 vol. 12mo. Cloth extra beveled $; 50 

Cloth full edges $ 2.00 

lie Ule of Blessed John BcreSamaias 


of tSae Society of Jesus. 

ft 

Translated from the French. With an appendix, giving an account of 
the miracles after death, which have been approved by the Holy See. 
From the Italian of Father Borgo, S. J. Published with 'tho approbation 
of the Right Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 1 vol. 12mo. 


Price— In cloth $3.50 

In cloth, gilt edge \ 2.00 


The Society of Jesus, laboring in all things for the “ Greater glory of God,” 
has accomplished, if not more, as much, towards that pious object, as ever did 
any Institution of our holy religion. Actuated by that sublime and single 
motive, it has given the world as brilliant scholars, historians and men of 
science in all departments, as have ever yet adorned its annals. Nor is this by 
any means its greatest boast; it is what has been achieved by the Society in the 
advancement of Catholicity and sanctity, that makes the brightest gein in it* 
coronet. It-is in that, that it is most precious in the sight of the angels of God ; 
it is for that its children will sing with them a new canticle on high. It has 
peopled heaven with a host of sainted choristers, many of them endowed with 
a world-wide fame for sanctity, and many, like Blessed Berchtnans, known to 
but few beyond tho pale of her order. This saintly youth, like St. Aloysms 
and St. Stanislaus, died young, but a model of that true wisdom which never 
loses sight of the end for which man is created. Tho work before us beauti- 
fully describes the virtues, and the exemplary life and practices of this pious 
youth, and is richly entitled to a place in every Catholic library. — Catholia 
Mirror. 

Mr. P. F. Cunningham, of Philadelphia, may well rejoice, in his Catholic 
heart, for having given us this work, tiie perusal of which must needs bo the 
•lOtirco cf immense good. No be iter work can be placed in the hands of Re- 
ligious novices Perhaps no other hook has fired those privileged souls with 
more fervid aspirations towards attaining tho perfection proper of their reli- 
gious professions. A perfect pattern is placed before them, and whilst tha 
resrt s drawn towards it with admiring love, the reader eanne t allege any 
honest c^use whereby to excuse himself from following the noble exampl« 
placed before him. Blessed Berciimans teaches, by his own life, that perfec- 
tion is to be attained in the fa, thful and conscientious discharge of the duties of 
one's daily life, whatever its circumstances may be. An excellent, most ex-< 
•client look this will also prove for sodalists — Boston Pilot. 


10 Published by Peter F. Camingham, 


This is the fullest and best life published of this remarkable servant of God 
^ bn Berchmaus lived at the beginning of the seventeenth century. He died 
Romo, ; n his twenty-third year — a model of purity and devotion. We tan- 
ad bottei notice this volume than by copying the opening words of the Brief of 
b ; s Beatification, pronounced by the Iloly Father, last year: 

*‘As youth is the foundation of manhood, and men do not readily in after life 
turn from the path they have trod from earliest years ; that there be no excuse 
on plea of age or strength, for swerving from the ways of virtue, the All-wise 
Providence has ordered it that there should bloom, from time to time, iu tba 
Church, one and another youth eminent for sanctity, realizing the eulogium: 
* Made perfect m a short space, be fulfilled a long time.’ ” 

t* such an one, the life of Blessed John Berchmans commends itself to the 
study especially of pious youth. — N. Y. Freeman's Journal. 

It is unnecessary for us to sav anything In recommendation of a life of the 
Blessed Berchmans. The devotion so long entertained for him, now solemnly 
approved by the Church, will cause many to read with delight and spiritual 
profit, this authentic account of his life and virtues. The Bishops of Belgium 
expressed their ardent wishes for the beatification of blessed John, hoping that 
through his intercession tho great works of the Christian education of youth, 
wnich they are so nobly carrying on, might be furthered and made more and 
more successful. In the United States there is a similar work to be done, and 
wo hope and pray that the blessed Berchmans will not forget our wants in his 
supplications to the Father of Mercies. 

We recommend the work before us to the young especially, among whom it 
should be widely circulated. — Catholic Standard. 

se Life of Si. Charles Borromeo. 

By Edward Healey Thompson. 

Published with the approbation of the Right Rev. Bishop of 
Philadelphia, lvol. 12mo. 

Cloth, extra beveled 

“ gilt edge 

1 lie SodalisFs Friend. A Beautiful Collec- 
tion of Meditations and Prayers. 

Compiled and translated from approved sources, for the use of members 
and leaders of confraternities. 1 vol. ISmo., neatly bound. 


Price — In cloth 80 cents. 

Roan embossed $1.00 

Embossed gilt 1.50 

Full gilt edges and sides 2.00 

Turkey, superior extra 3.00 


JL he Montis of tSse Sacred Heart. 

Arranged for each day of the month of June. Containing also the Arch 
Confraternity of Sacred Heart, and Father Borgo’s Novena to the Sacred 
Heart of Jesus. With the appiobation of the Right Rev. Bishay cf 
Philadelphia. 1 neat tol. 24ur Cloth, gilt back. 

Pri^e 


ft 50 
2 CC 



50 can tv 


216 South Third Street, Philadelphia. 11 


FTP 

JL Bie Month of Stf. Joseph. 

Arranged for each day of the month of March. From the French of the 
Rev. Father Huguet, of the “Society of St. Mary.” Pnb’ished with tha 
approbation ol tlie Right Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 1 neat vol. 
18mo. Cloth, gilt back. 

Price ceuts. 

An attentive perusal < f this little work will prove, with a sincere utterance of 
the prayers contained therein, a powerful means to reform one’s life. Let us 
secure the friendship and intercession of St. Joseph. He is the foster-father of 
oar Saviour. He can say a good word for us, indeed. O, the beauty of Catholic 
devotions! how its practices, when in direct connection with the life and teach- 
ings of Jesus Christ, fill the soul with happiness and hope! — Boston Pilot. 

This will be found to be an interesting book to all the children of Mary, and 
the lovers of her pure, saintly, aud glorious spouse, St. Joseph. It is a good 
companion to the lovely “Month of May.”— New York Tablet. 

pth 

it 5ie RtftEe Offices. 

Translated from the French by the Ladies of the Sacred Heart. Contain- 
ing the Little Ollices of the Sacred Heart, Holy Ghost, Immaculate Con- 
ception, Our Lady of Seven Dolours, Most Holy Heart of Mary, Holy 
Angel Guardian, St Joseph, St. Louis do Gonzaga, St. Stanislaus, St. 
Jude, Apostle. To which is added a Devout Method of Hearing Mass. 
Published with the approbation of the Right Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 
1 vol. ISmo. Neatly bound. 

Price 50 cents. 


rm 


Eie Relipous SoiaS Elevated to PerfccHon. 


by the Exer clses of an SEiterior Rife. 


From the French of the Abbe Baudrand, author of “The Elevation of 
Soul ” 1 vol. ISmo. 

Price 60 cents. 


i 


_Ja Mere de Blew 




A beautiful and very edifying work on the Glories and Virtues of the 
Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God ; fron. the Italian of Father Alphonse 
Capecelatro, of the Oratory of Naples, with an Introductory Letter of 
Father Gratry, of the Paris Oratory. Published with the approbation of 
the Right Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 1 neat vol. ISmo. Cloth. 

Price 50 cents. 


mi 


lie Roman Catacombs ; 


or, Some accotsnl 


of the Curia! PSaces of the Early Chris- 


tians In Rome. 


Bv Rev. J. Spencer Northcoate, M. A , wi h Maps and various Illustra- 
tions. Published with the approbation of the Right Rev Bishop nf Phila- 
delphia. 

1 vol., 16mo., neatly bound in cloth, gil bt.ck. 

Price 


$ 1.00 


jo Published by Peter F. Cunningham, 

J Metiers A«l<tresse«l to a Protestant Friend. 

F>y a Catholic Priest. With a Preface by the Right Rev. Bishop Berber. 

1 vol. 12mo. Cloth extra beveled $1*21 

and TrotEa; or, Catholics not un* 
clmriSabie in saying tEaai None are 
Saved oat of the Catholic Church. 

Ey the Rev. Edward Eawarden. 

Published with the approbatiou of the Eight Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 

i vol. 12mo. 

Price— Neatly bound in cloth.. $1.25 

In this book, the learned and earnest author discusses a question of vital im« 
portance to all, viz.: Is there salvation out of the Catholic Communion? At 
the present moment, when the strongest proof of Christianity, in the popular 
opinion, is a belief that every road leads to heaven, and that every man who 
lives a moral life is sure to be saved, the very title of this book will grate 
harshly on many ears. To such we wmld say— Read the work, and learn that 
“ a charitable judgment may be very unfavorable, and a favorable judgment 
may be very uncharitable ” “Charity and Truth” is the work of one of the 
ablest controversialists and most learned theologians of the Catholic Church in 
England. The method adopted in “Charity and Truth” is the catechetical, and 
to help the memory the questions are . c et in large characters at the top of each 
page. In the preface, the Reverend reviewer takes up and disposes of six 
vulgar errors, — 1st. That it is charity to suppose all men saved whose life is 
morally honest. 2d. That the infinite gooduess of God will not suffer the 
greater part of mankind to perish. 3d. That it is charity to believe the Jews 
and Turks arc saved. 4th. That if I judge more favorably of the salvation of 
another man than he does of mine, I am the more charitable of the two. 5th. 
That, setting all other considerations apart, if Protestants judge more favor- 
ably of the salvation of Catholics than Catholics do of theirs, Protestants are 
on the more charitable side. 6th. That he is uncharitable whoever supposes 
that none are saved in any other religion unless they are excused by invinci- 
ble ignorance. — Met. Record. 

We owe Mr. Cunningham an apology for not having noticed this work ere 
this; and we should have done it more readily, as we hail with utmost pleasure 
the republication of one of thoso works written by the uncompromising cham- 
pions of the Church during the hottest days of persecution and Catholic disa- 
bilities in England. We have often wished that some of the learned professors 
of the illustrious College of Georgetown would select from among the numerous 
collection they have of books written by English missionaries during the first 
two centuries of persecution in England, some such work as “Charity and 
Truth,” and republish them in this country. These works will not please, of 
course, our milk and water Catholics. But, after all, they are the real kind of 
works we need. It is high time that we should take the aggressive. We haya 
put up long enough with Protestant attacks. We owe nothing to Protestants. 
We have allowed them to say all kind of things to us. We have received with 
thanks the benign condescension witli which they grant us the merit of there 
being some good people among the Catholics, and that some bishops and priests 
are clever, in spite of their being Catholics. We have bow T ed bo low as to kiss 
the right hand that has patted us on the head, whTe the left was lifting its 
thumb to the nose of the smiling but double-hearted ca' esser. It is high time, we 
gay, that we should do away with this sycophancy. It is high time that war 
was carried to the heart of the enemy’s country. Hence we are thankful to the 
American editor of this work. Let Catholics buy it, read it, and then give it 
to their Protestant acquaintances. — Boston Pilot. 


CATHOLIC TALES. 



cecli Blair. 
War. 


— — — ■>» ■■■ - ■ 

A Tale of the South Before the 


1 




1 vol. 12mo. 


ernclifie. 


By Fannie Warner. 

Cloth extra beveled $1.50 

Cioih gilt edge *.”..*..$2.(Xl 


Ti 



A Catholic Tale of great merit 1 volume 12 mo. 

Price — Cl Mth, extra beveled j.i 

Cloth, gilt edges ..... 2 00 

ie Moiatarg*e§ Legacy. 

tli'? Ca,h0l !f , TaIe ’ by rioren ce McCoomb, (Miss Meline, of Washing' 

toa,) 1 voiume, small 12me. ’ ® 

Price— Cloth, extia beveled *7 00 

Cloth, gilt ZZZZZZVZ. L 26 

race Morton 5 or, Tlie Inheritance. 


A Dew and beautiful Catholic tale, written by Miss Meauey of Philadelphia. 

1 vol., large ISmo., neatly bound in cloth. 

Price $1.00 

This is a pleasing story, instructive as well as amusing, and worth an espe- 
cial place in the library of youthful Catholics. It depicts with rare skill the 
trials and sacrifices which attend the profession of the true Faith, and which 
are so often exacted of us by the fostering solicitude of our Mother the Church. 
—Catholic Mirror. 


A chastely written Catholic tale of American life, which is most pleasantly 
narrated ; and conveys much that is instructive and elevating . — Irish American. 

m 


lie Knout 5 


a Tate of Poland. 



Translated from the French by Mrs. J. Sadlier. 

1 vol., large ISmo., neatly bound in cloth, gilt back, with frontispiece. 

Price $1.00 

aura and Anna; or, Tlie Effect of Faitti on 


tlie Character. 

A beautiful tale, translated from the French by a young lady, a Graduate 
of St. Joseph’s, Emmittsburg. 

1 vol. ISmo., neatly bound in cloth. 

Price 60 cent*. 

lie Confessors of Connaught 5 or, The Ten- 
ants ©f a Eord Bishop. 

A tale of Evictions in Ireland. By Miss Meaner, author of “ Grace Mor- 
ton.” 

Small 12 mo., cloth. 

Price $1-00 

Read this bov/k and you will have a feeling knowledge of the sufferings of 
our bretk ven in the Isle of Saints . — Boston Pilot. 

This is a story of Irish evictions, founded apon well-known facts. The do- 


14 Published by Peter F. Cunningham, 


plorabl© Infatuation of Lord Plunkett, Protestant Bishop of Tuam and landlord 
of a great portion of the town of Partly and its vicinity, is perhaps still freih 
In the memory of our readers. 

That a man not deficient in intellectual attainments, and really anxious to 
stand well with his tenantry, should have turned a deaf ear to all generous 
remonstrances, and should have persisted in believing that in this nineteenth 
century the dispossession of a multitude of helpless tenants at will in the midst 
of winter, was on the whole a good expedient for making the evictor’s “ re- 
ligion popular among the victims,” is one of the most impressive illustration* 
we have ever met with of the incurableness of judicial blindness, when con- 
tracted in opposing the Catholic Church. 

This is the reflection forced upon the reader of the “ Confessors of Connaught,” 
R tale put together with remarkable skill. — Tahiti. 


T 


he Young Catholic’s Library. 


Tn neat ISmo vols., cloth. 12 vols., $6.00, or 

The following volumes are now ready. 

THE YOUNG CATHOLIC’S LIBRARY-First Series. 


.50 cents each. 


1. Cottage Evening Tales for Young People. Six Cnarming Tales; 
one for each day of the week. 1 vol. 18mo. Neat Cloth, 60 cts. 

2. Children of the Valleg; or, The Ghost of the Ruins. A beautiful 
Catholic; Tale, from the French. 1vol. ISmo Neat Cloth, 50 cts. 

3. Mag Carleton’s Story ; or, The Catholic Maiden’s Cross. And. The 
Millers Daughter; or, The Charms of Virtue. Two lovely Tales in 1 
vol. 18mo. Neat Cloth, 50*cts. 

4. Philip Hartley ; or, A Boy’s Trials and Triumphs. A Tale by the 
author of “Grace Morton,” etc. 1 vol ISmo. Neat Cloth, 5u cts. 

5. Count Leslie; or, The Triumph of Filial Piety. A Catholic Tale of 
great interest. 1 vol. ]8mo. Neat Cloth, 50 cts. 

G. A Father’s Tales, of the French Revolution. Delightful Stories for 
Catholic Youth. First series. 1vol. 18mo. Neat Cloth. 50 cts. 

7. Jtafph Berrien , and other Tales of the French Revolution. Second 
series. 1vol. ISmo 50 cts. 

8. Silver Grange . A charming American Catholic Tale. And, Phillip- 
pine: or, The Captive Bride. Eothinlvol. ISmo. 50 cts. 

9. Helena Butler, a Story of the Rosary. 1 vol. ISmo. 50 cts. 

10. Charles and Frederick. A beautiful Story, by Rev. John P. 
Dounellon. 1vol. ISmo. 60 cts. 

11. The Beau forts, a Story of the Alleghanies. lvol. ISme. 50 cts. 

12. Lauretta and the Tables, A charming little Book for Young 
People. 1 vol. 18mo. 50 cts. 

THE YOUNG CATHOLIC’S LIBRARY— Second Senes. 

/. Conrad and Gertrude , the Little Wanderers. A lovely Swiss 
Tale. 1 vol., ISmo. 50 cts. 

2. Three Petitions, a Tale of Poland. 1 vol., 18mo. 50 cts. 

3. Alice ; or, The Rose of the Black Forest. A German Story. 1 vol., 
ISmo. 50 cts. 

4. Caroline : or. Self Conquest. 1 vol.. 18mo 50 cts. 

K. Tales of the Commandments. 1 vol.. ISmo. 50 cts. 

(i. The Seven Corporal Works of Mercy . 1 vol., ISmo. 50 cts. 

7. Elinor Johnson. Founded on Facts, and a beautiful Catholic 
Taie. 1 vol., ISmo Cloth. 50 cts. 

8. The Queen’s Daughter ; or, The Orphan of La Granga. 1 vol., 

ISmo. 50 cts. . 

9. Hetty Homer ; or, Tried but True. A charming Tale, by Fanme 

Warner, to cts. 

10. Tin Beverly Family. By Hon. Jos. R. Chandler. 50 cts. 

11. Aunt Fanny’s Present; or, Child’s Book of Fairy Tales. 50 cts. 

12. Woodland Cottage, and other Tales. 50 cts. 


216 South Third Street, 




Oineas ; or, Rome under Nero, 

By J .M. Villefranche. 


lvol. 12mo. Cloth. Extra beveled $1.50 

Gilt edge $2.00 


This charming story of the time of Nero— the burning of Rome under thal 
tyrant, the destruction of Jerusalem, and the most cruel persecution of the 
Christians, is of that class of beautiful Christian novels, of which Fabiola was 
the first, and is considered one of the best yet written. 


A 

-TjLlphonso; or, the Triumph of Religion. 

1 vol. small 12 mo. neat cloth. Price $1.00 

We have the pleasure to announce another of Mr. Cunningham’s works, Al- 
phonso, or the Triumph of Religion. It contains everything calculated 10 instruct 
aatl edify at the same time, and vve tnmk it a work that will be read with 
great pleasure by all our readers . — Spare Hours. 

The scenes of thi« book are laid in France, but the moral applies with equal 
force to our own country. The work is intended to shew the evil effects of an 
irreligious education, and does so with great force and effect. The tale is from 
the pen of a gifted Irish lady, ami well worth reading. Those who are sluggish 
in their response to our Most Rev. Archbishop’s recent call in behalf of an In- 
dustrial School, should take a lesson from this valuable little book. •-Laltimore 
Catholic Mirror. 


A History of England, 

For The Young. 


Compiled by the Sisters of the noly Child Jems, for the use of then 
schools in England, and republished for the use of the Catholic Schools in 
the United States. 

1 vol. 12 mo 8,5 cts 


This is an admirable compendium of English history, deserving a place .n all 
onr srnools It is well arranged for a class book, having genealogical tables, a 
good index, and questions for each chapter.— Cat hnlic Mirror. 

This is a most valuable little book, giving just sufficient information to interest 
and a tract the young without wearying them with superabundance ot dates which 
Sey rarely remember, and dry statistics which they never read unless compelled 
to do so Ca most injudicious process,) while by means of excel lent genealogical 
and chronological taoles, it furnisnesto those disposed to seek it, ample instruc- 
tion and it ^vill most probably inspire in the mind of an intelligent chi. d, the 
w°"h to read more extended works. We iaxe pleasure in Commencing tlua 
^ History of En-land” to the attention of all those interested in providing agree- 
Jti\e men ns of improvement to children.— A 1 . Tablet. 

Mr ^eter F. Cunningham, 210 South Third street, has published a hrstory of 
n" , Vf r the voung written by a religiouse. It is properly a nan alive hn- 
»,ai, in s.Vh aWe as is mojj 


tTni verse . 


16 


Published by Peter F. Cunn'ngham. 

PRAYER BOOKS. 


FLOWER GARDEN. 

An admirable*- small Prayer Book. Contains Morning and Evening 
Prayers, Mass Prayers. Ordinary of tht Maas, (in Latin and English,) 
Vespers, Forty Hours Devotion, Stations of the Cross, and a. great va* 
riety of other practical devotions, all together forming the most com- 
plete small Prayer Book yet printed. 1 vol., 32mo. 

No. 1, Neat cloth variety of nice bright colors 45 

2, Loan, embossed, gilt edge 0 80 

3, “ “ “ and clasp 1 00 

4, “ full gilt edges and sides 1 00 

5, “ “ ‘ and clasp 1 25 . 

FLOWER GARDEN, 32mo., fine edition , printed on the finest quality 
of paper, and made up in the neatest and very best manner : 

No. G, Turkey, super extra, full gilt or plain sides, red 

or gilt, edges stiff or flexible h2 50 

7, Turkey, super extra- full gilt or plain sides, red 

or gilt edges, with clasp 2 75 

8, Turkey, super extra, rims and clasp 4 00 

9, Calf, extra, stiff or flexible, very neat 2 75 

10, “ k ‘ with clasp 3 oo 

11, “ “ rims and clasp 4 50 

12, Velvet, full ornaments, rims, clasps and ovals... 6 00 

LITTLE FLOWER GARDEN. 

A beautiful miniature Prayer Book. 4Smo. Containing a selection 
of practical devotions, and made up in a variety of beautiful styles 
of binding. 

No. 1, Neat cloth, variety of plain and bright colors... $0 20 


2 Roan, embossed, gilt edges 0 40 

3, “ full gilt edges and sides 0 50 

4, •* tucks, very neat. 0 60 

5, Turkey, super extra, full gilt or plain sides, red 

or gilt edges 1 50 

6, Turkey, super extra, full gilt or plain sides, with 

fine gilt clasp 1 75 

7, Turkey, super extra, rims and clasp 2 50 

8, Calf, extra, red or gilt edges, very neat 1 75 

9, “ “ “ “ with clasp 2 <0 

10, “ “ rims and clasp 3 00 


DAILY DEVOTIONS FOR CATHOLICS. 

An admirable small Prayer Book. 32mo., with very large type, 
(English,) good for the short-sighted, and for all who like to read witli 
ease, without the necessity of using glasses. 

No. 1, Neat cloth, variety of nice bright colors $0 45 

2, Roan, embossed, gilt edge 0 SO 

3, “ “ “ and clasp 1 00 

4, “ full gilt edges and sides 1 0C 

5, “ ‘‘ “ “ and clasp 1 25 

6, Turkey, super extra, full gilt or plain sides, red 

or g'ill edges, stiff or flexible 2 50 

7, Turkey, super extra, full gilt or plain sides, red 

or gilt edges, with clasp 2 75 

8, Turkey, super extra rims and clasp 4 00 

9, Calf, extra, stiff or flexible, very neat 2 75 

10, “ “ “ with clasp 3 00 

11 , “ “ “ rims and clasp 4 50 

12, Velvet, full ornaments rims, clasps and ova $... 6 


17 


216 South i bird Street, Philadelphia. 


MANUAL OF DEVOTION. 

An excellent 32mo. Prayer Hook, with illustrations of the Mass. 


No. l Neat cloth, a variety of plain ami bright colors. 30 

2, Roan, emboss cd gilt edges o to 

3, “ ‘ “ and clasp 0 8 > 

4, •* full gilt edges and sides 0 8> 

5, “ ‘ “ and clasp 1 00 

6, Turkey, super extra, full gilt or plain sides 

7, “ “ rims and clasp 3 o 

8, Calf, extra, stiff or flexible, bound very neat i 75 

9, “ ‘ and clasp 3 o 

10, “ rims and clasp 4 oo 


DAILY EXERCISE. 

A beautiful miniature Prayer Cook. 43mo., with illustrations oj ihs 


Mass. 

No. 1, Neat cloth a variety of choice colors .*0 0 

2, Roan, embossed, gdt edge u 4) 

3, “ full gilt edge and sides o 50 

4, “ tucks, very neat 0G> 

5, Turkey, super extra i 0 

6, “ tucks 1 .0 

7, “ “ rims and clasp 2 50 

8, Calf, extra 1 75 

9, “ with clasp •> o 

10, “ rims and clasp 3 00 

The Hymn Book. 


Thu Hymn-Book — 180th thousand — the most popular little Hymn Book 
ever published Contains also, Prayers for the Mass, Prayers for Con- 
fession and Communion, and Serving of Muss. 13 cents each, or $10 per 
hundred ; cloth, 20 cents, or $1 80 per dozen. 

The Gospels. 

For Sundays and Principal Festivals during the year, together wit h 
the Four Gospels of the Passion for Palm Sunday and lioly Week. 
1 vol. i 2ino. Paper cover 10 cts , or per dozen, $i t 0 

Confirmation and Communion Certificates. 

The subscriber lias had prepared very beaut iful cert ificates of Confir- 
mation ant First Communion giving also exterior and inter ior views 
of the Cathedral of Philadelphia. These are the most beaut ilul ecrt id- 
eates ever published in this country, and are soid at low rates lo the 
Reveren I Clergy and others who buy in quantity. $. 00 per hundred. 

Angels’ Sodality. 

Manual of the Holy Angels Sodality. Price, in cloth, flexible $12 .'0 
per hundred, or $i ; 0 per dozen 

Diplomas for Membership of the Angels' Sodality. Beautiful design 
$10 » per dozen 

Blessed Virgin’s Sodality Diploma. 

A Very Beautiful Diploma for Members of the Modality of the Blessed 
Virgin Mary, size of plate l,x 0, lias just been prepared by the uudei- 
eigned Orders respectfully solicited. The name of the Church 
title of the Sodality inserted to ord r. 

Catechisms. 

Butler s large and small Catechisms. The general Catechism of the 
National Council. Tuberviile s Catechism, l)r. PoyleLs Catechisms, 
Fleury s Catechism and The Catholic Christian Instructed Supplied 
Wholesale and Retail. And many other Catholic Doctrinal Works. 

Ordeis respectfully solicited. 

PETER F. CUNNINGHAM, 

Publisher , 2it> S- Third SC, Thilaelct, 


18 


Published by Peter F. Cunningham, 
Meditations on the Litany of the Blessed Vir 


Mary. 


By the A bb6 Edward Barthe. Published with the approbation of the 
Ri^ht Rev. Bishop of Philadelphia. 1 vol., 12mo. 

Cloth, extra beveled ! $1 50 

Cloth, gilt 2 00 


MESSENGER SERIES. 

[Attention is respectfully called to this series of beautiful works, originally 
prepared for the Messenger of the Sacred Heart, and now offered to the public 
in handsome 12mo vols. We recommend every Catholic family to procure 
the “Messenger Series.”] 

1. Leandro; or, The Sign of the Cross. 

A beautiful Catholic T ale. 1 vol.. 12mo. 


Cloth, extra beveled $1 50 

Cloth, gilt 2 OC 


2. Simon Peter and Simon Magus, 

A Legend of the early days of Christianity in Rome. By Rev. John 
Joseph Franco, S. J. *1 vol., 12mo. 

Cloth, extra beveled Si 50 

Cloth, gilt 2 uQ 

3 . The Acts of the Early Martyrs. 

By the Rev. J. A. M. Fastr6, S. J. First series. 1 vol., 12mo. 

Cloth, extra beveled $1 50 

Cloth, gilt. 2 00 


4 . 


5 . 



he Acts of the Early Martyrs. 

By the Rev. J. A M. Fastre, S. J. Second Series. 

Cloth, extra beveled 

Cloth, gilt 


1 vol., 12mo. 


50 

00 


The Acts of the Early Martyrs. [In Press.] 

By the Rev. J. A. M. Fastre, Third Series. 1 vol., 12mo. 


.Cloth, extra beveled $1 50 

Cloth, gilt 2 00 


]\farion Howard; or, Trials and Triumphs, 


1 vol. 12mo. Cloth, extra beveled $2 00 

Cloth, gilt edge 2 60 


Divine Life of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary. 

Being an abridgment of the “Mystical City of God.” 


By Ven. Mary of Jesus of Aereda. 

lvol. 12mo. Cloth, extra beveled $150 

Cloth, gilt edge 2 00 



















































































































































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